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CHEAP  REPOSITORY 


TRACTS; 


ENTERTAINING, 


MORAL,  and  RELIGIOUS. 


A  NEW  EDITION. 


LONDON: 

S’ HINTED  BY  BYE  AND  1AW,  ST.  JOHN’s-SCJU  ARE,  CLERKENWELLJ 

AND  SOLD  BY  F.  AND  C.  RIVINGTON,  NO.  62,  ST.  PAUL’S  CHURCH- YARD J 
J.  EVANS,  NO.  41,  LONG  LANE,  WEST-SMITHF1ELD  j  J.  HATCBARD, 
NO.  190,  PICCADILLY  J  AND  S.  HAZARD,  BATH. 


tr 


[ (EntmU  at  fetationec^lfalU] 


1 803. 


These  Tracis  were  firft  publiihed  and  fold 
^In  monthly  numbers,  under  the  patronage  of  a 
jlarge  and  very  refpedable  body  of  fubfcribers, 
ia nd  they  are  now  colle&ed  into  volumes.  The 
^p  ume  contains  the  longer  Tales,  and 

>fome  Poetry,  and  is  well  fuited  to  the  ufe  of 
^Boarding  Schools,  as  well  as  private  families 

I  . 

There  is  another  volume  containing  the- 
ihorter  Stories  and  Ballads. 

I 

j  theie  is  alfo  a  volume  of  Sunday  Read** 
ings. 


Any  of  thefe  volumes  may  be  had  feperatdy 


IV 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  fale  of  the  Cheap  Repoiitory  Tracis  has 
been  exceedingly  great,  near  two  millions  (bear¬ 
ing  the  price  of  about  a  halfpenny  and  a  penny 
each)  having  been  fold  within  the  firft  year,  be- 
fides  great  numbers  in  Ireland.  The  luccefs  of 
the  plan  has  been  much  extended,  both  by  the 
zeal  of  individuals,  and  alfo  by  the  adtive  co¬ 
operation  of  feme  very  refpedlable  Societies, 
which  have  been  formed  in  various  towns  for 
this  purpofe.  Many  perfons  have  exerted  their 
influence,  not  only  by  circulating  the  Tradts  in 
their  own  families,  in  fchools,  and  among  their 
dependants,  but  alfo  by  encouraging  bookfellers 
to  fupply  themfelves  with  them;  by  mfpeding 
retailers  and  hawkers,  giving  them  a  few  in  the 
firft  inftance,  and  direding  them  in  the  pur- 
chafe  ;  alfo  by  recommending  the  Tradts  to  the 
occupier  of  a  flail  at  a  fair,  and  by  fending  them, 
-to  hofpitals,  workhoufes,  and  prifons.  The 
Tradts  have  alfo  been  liberally  diftributed  among 
Soldiers  and  Sailors,  through  the  influence  of 

V  * 

their  commanders. 


ADVERTISEMENT.  V 

The  great  objed  had  in  view  in  publifhing 
them,  has  been  to  fupplant  the  multitude  of 
vicious  Trads  circulated  by  hawkers,  and  to  fup- 
ply,  inftead  of  them,  fome  ufeful  reading,  which 

may  be  likely  to  prove  entertaining  alfo. 

. 

The  profits  which  may  arife  from  the  fale  of 
any  of  thefe  volumes  will  be  applied  to  the  pur- 
pofe  of  forwarding  the  more  extenfive  circula¬ 
tion  of  the  individual  Trads,  which  are  fold  by 
Mr.  Evans,  No.  41  and  42,  Long-lane,  Weft- 
Smithfield  *  and  alfo  by  Mr.  Hatchard,  No* 
1 90,  Piccadilly,  London. 


1 


rr 

i-  HE  Shepherd  of  Salilbury  Plain 

The  Two  Shoemakers.  -  -  35 

The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers;  or,  the  Hiflory  of 
Mr.  Bragwell  -  _  «  123 

The  Hiftory  of  Tom  White,  the  Pofb'lion  -  247 

The  Cottage  Cook  ;  or  Mrs.  Jones’s  Cheap  Difhes  : 
file  wing  the  Way  to  do  much  Good  with  little 
Money  -  -  -  288 

The  Sunday  School  -  305 

The  Hiflory  of  Hefter  Wilmot ;  or,  the  Second  Part 
of  the  Sunday  School  -  -  »  322 

«r 

The  Beggarly  Boy.  A  Parable  -  -  352 

The  Pilgrims.  An  Allegory  -  -  366 

The  Servant  Man  turned  Soldier ;  or  the  Fair  Wea¬ 
ther  Chriflian.  A  Parable  -  -  332 

The  Sorrows  of  Yamba ;  or,  the  Negro  Woman’s 
Lamentation  -  -  -  -  396 

The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor;  or,  the  Folly  of 
going  out  of  our  Element  «  -  403 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

The  True  Heroes ;  or,  the  Noble  Army  of 
Martyrs  -  -  423 

A  New  Chriflmas  Hymn  -  -  426 

A  Hymn  of  Praife  for  the  abundant  Harveft  of  1796  ; 
after  a  Year  of  Scarcity  -  429 


/ 


THE 


. SHEPHERD 


OF 


SALISBURY-PLAIN. 


IVIR.  Johnson,  a  very  worthy  charitable  Gen¬ 
tleman,  was  travelling  io  me  time  ago  acrols  one  of 
thofc  v aft  Plains  which  are  well  known  in  Wilt-, 
fhire.  It  was  a  fine  hummers  evening,  and  he* 
e  ^ j "  y  coat  he  might  have  leifure  to  admire 

J* 

£  n 


<2  The  Shepherd  of  Salijbury -Plain, 

God  in  the  works  of  his  creation.  For  this 
Gentleman  was  of  opinion,  that  a  walk  or  a  ride, 
was  as  proper  a  time  as  any  to  think  about  good 
things ;  for  which  reafon,  on  fuch  occanons,  he 
ieldom  thought  fo  much  about  his  money  or  his 
trade,  or  public  news,  as  at  other  times,  that  he 
might  with  more  eale  and  fatisfadtion  enjoy  the 
pious  thoughts  which  the  vifible  works  of  the^ 
great  Maker  of  heaven  and  earth  are  intended  to 
raife  in  jthe  mind. 

His  attention  was  all  of  a  fudden  called  off  by 
the  barking  of  a  Shepherd  s  dog,  and  looking 
up  he  fpied  one  of  thofe  little  huts,  which  are 
here  and  there  to  be  feen  on  thofe  great  Downs ; 
and  near  it  was  the  Shepherd  himfelf  bufily  em¬ 
ployed  with  his  dog  in  collecting  together  his 
vail  flock  of  fheep.  As  he  drew  nearer,  he  per¬ 
ceived  him  to  be  a  clean,  well  looking,  poor 
man,  near  fifty  years  of  age.  His  coat,  though 
at  firft  it  had  probably  been  of  one  dark  colour, 
had  been  in  a  long  courfe  of  years  fo  often 
patched  with  different  forts  of  cloth,  that  it  was 
now  become  hard  to  fay  which  had  been  the  ori¬ 
ginal  colour.  But  this,  while  it  gave  a  plain 
proof  of  the  Shepherd’s  poverty,  equally  proved 
the  exceeding  neatnefs,  induftry,  and  good  ma¬ 
nagement  of  his  wife.  His  itockings  no  lefs 
proved  her  good  houfewifery,  for  they  were  en¬ 
tirely  covered  with*  darns  of  different  coloured 
worfted,  but  had  not  a  hole  in  them ;  and  nis 
fliirt,  though  nearly  as  coarfe  as  the  fails  of  a 
fiiip,  was  as  white  as  the  drifted  fnow,  and  was 
neatly  mended  where  time  had  either  made  a 
fen t,.  or  worn  it  thin.  Tins  furnifhes  a  rule  o* 


The  Shepherd  of  Salifhiiry- Plain,  j 

judging,  by  which  one  fhall  feldom  be  deceived. 
If  I  meet  with  a  labourer,  hedging,  ditching,  or 
mending  the  highways  with  his  ftockings  and 
fhirt  tight  and  whole,  however  mean  and  bad  his 
other  garments  are,  I  have  feldom  failed,  on  vb 
fiting  his  cottage,  to  find  that  alfo  clean  and  well 
ordered,  and  his  wife  notable,  and  worthy  of  en¬ 
couragement.  Whereas  a  poor  woman,  who  will 
be  lying  a  bed,  or  gofliping  with  her  neighbours 
when  fhe  ought  to  be  fitting  out  her  hufband  in  a 
cleanly  manner,  will  feldom  be  found  to  be  very 
good  in  other  refpedts. 

This  was  not  the  cafe  with  our  Shepherd  :  and 
Mr.  Johnfon  was  not  more  flruck  with  the  de¬ 
cency  of  his  mean  and  frugal  drefs,  than  with  his 
open,  honeft  countenance,  winch  bore  ftronrr 
marks  of  health,  cheerfulnefs,  and  fpirit.  ° 

Mr,  Johnfon,  who  was  on  a  journey,  and  fome- 
what  fearful  from  the  appearance  of  the  Iky,  that 
rain  was^at  no  great  diftance,  accofled  die  Shep¬ 
herd  with  afking  what  fort  of  weather  he  thought 
it  would  be  o«  the  morrow. — It  will  be  fuch 
weather  as  pleafes  me,  anfwered  the  Shepherd. 
Though  the  anfwer  was  delivered  in  the  mildeft 
and  civileft  tone  that  could  be  imagined,  the 
Gentleman  thought  the  words  themfelves  rathe? 
rude  and  furly,  and  afked  him  how  that  could 
be?  Becaufe,  replied  the  Shepherd,  it  will  be 
fuch  weatner  as  fhall  pleale  God,  and  whatever 
3leafes  him  always  pleafes  me, 

Mr.  Johnfon,  who  delighted  in  good  men  and 
*cod  things,  was  very  well  iatis  tied  with  bis  re- 
dy.  For  he  juftly  thought,  that  though  an  hy- 

B  2  - 


4  The  Shepherd  of  Salifbury -Plain. 

pocrite  may  eafily  contrive  to  appear  better  than 
he  really  is  to  a  ftranger,  and  that  no  one  fhould 
be  too  foon  trufted,  merely  for  having  a  few  good 
words  in  his  mouth;  yet  as  he  knew  that  “  out 
of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth  fpeak- 
eth  he  always  accuflomed  himfelf  to  judge  fa¬ 
vourably  of  thofe  who  had  a  ferious  deportment 
and  folid  manner  of  fpeaking.  It  looks  as  if  it 
proceeded  from  a  good  habit,  faid  he,  and  though 
I  may  now  and  then  be  deceived  by  it,  yet  it*  has 
not  often  happened  to  me  to  be  lo.  Whereas  if 
a  man  accolls  me  with  an  idle,  diffolute,  vulgar, 
indecent,  or  prophane  expreflion,  I  have  never 
been  deceived  in  him,  but  have  generally  on 
inquiry  found  his  charadter  to  be  as  bad  as  his 
language  gave  me  room  to  expedl. 

He  entered  into  converfation  with  the  Shep¬ 
herd  in  the  following  manner: — Tour’s  is  a  trou- 
blefome  life,  honeft  friend,  faid  he. — Tobefure, 
Sir,  replied  the  Shepherd,  ’tis  not  a  very  lazy 
life  ;  but  ’tis  not  near  fo  toilfome  as  that  which 
my  great  Master  led  for  my  lake  ;  and  he  had 
every  date  and  condition  of  hie  at  his  choice, 
and  chofe  a  hard  one ;  while  I  only  fubmit  to  the 
lot  that  is  appointed  me. — You  are  expofed  to 
great  cold  and  heat,  faid  the  Gentleman ; — true. 
Sir,  faid  the  Shepherd ;  but  then  I  am  not  ex¬ 
pofed  to  great  temptations;  and  fo  throwing  one 
thing  againft  another,  God  is  pleafed  to  contrive 
to  make  things  more  equal  than  we  poor,  igno¬ 
rant,  Ihort-fighted  creatures,  are  apt  to  think. 
David  was  happier  when  he  kept  his  father’s  fheep 
on  fuch  a  plain  as  this,  and  employed  in  fing- 
Jng  fome  of  his  own  Pfalms  perhaps,  than  ever 


The  Shepherd  of  Salijbury -Plain,  y 

he  was  when  he  became  king  of  Ifrael  and  Judah.' 
And  I  dare  fay  we  fhould  never  have  had  fome 
of  the  moft  beautiful  texts  in  all  thofe  fine  Pfalms, 
if  he  had  not  been  a  Shepherd,  which  enabled 
him  to  make  fo  many  fine  comparifons  and 
fimilitudes,  as  one  may  fay,  from  country  life, 
flocks  of  fheep,  hills,  and  vallics,  and  fountains 
of  water. 

You  think  then,  faid  the  Gentleman,  that  a 
laborious  life  is  a  happy  one.  1  do,  Sir,  and 
more  fo  efpecially,  as  it  expofes  a  man  to  fewer 
fins.  If  king  Saul  had  continued  a  poor,  labo¬ 
rious  man  to  the  end  of  his  days,  he  might  have 
lived  happy  and  honefl,  and  died  a  natural  death, 
in  his  bed  at  laft,  which  you  know.  Sir,  was  more 
than  he  did.  But  I  fpeak  with  reverence,  for  it 
was  divine  Providence  overruled  all  that,  you 
know',  Sir,  and  I  do  not  prefume  to  make  com- 
parifons.  Befides,  Sir,  my  employment  has  been 
particularly  honoured. — Mofes  was  a  Shepherd 
in  the  plains  of  Midian.  It  was  to  “  Shepherds 
keeping  their  flocks  by  night/-  that  the  angels 
appeared  in  Bethlehem,  to  tell  the  belt  news,  ~the 
gladded:  tidings,  that  ever  were  revealed  to  poor, 
finful  men :  often  and  often  has  the  thought 
warmed  my  poor  heart  in  the  coldeft  night,  and 
filled  me  with  more  joy  and  thankfulnefs  than  the 
bed  fupper  could  have  done. 

Here  the  Shepherd  flopped,  for  he  began  to 
feel  that  he  had  made  too*  free,  and  had  talked 
too  long.  But  Mr.  Johnson  was  fo  well  pleafed 
with  what  he  faid,  and  with  the  cheerful,  contented 
manner  in  which  he  faid  it,  that  he  defired  him  to 

I  -  :  b3 


6 


The  Shepherd  of  Salifbury-Vlain . 

go  on  freely,  for  that  it  was  a  pleafure  to  him  to 
meet  with  a  plain  man,  who,  without  any  kind 
learning  but  what  he  had  got  from  the  Bible,  was 
able  to  talk  fo  well  on  a  fubjedt  in  which  all 
men,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  are  equally 
concerned. 

Indeed  I  am  afraid  I  make  too  bold,  Sir,  for 
it  better  becomes  me  to  liften  to  fuch  a  Gentleman 
as  you  feem  to  be,  than  to  talk  in  my  poor  way  ; 
but  as  I  was  faying,  Sir,  I  wonder  all  working 
men  do  not  derive  as  great  joy  and  delight  as  I 
do  from  thinking  how  God  has  honoured  poverty  ! 
Oh  !  Sir,  what  great,  or  rich,  or  mighty  men 
have. had  fuch  honour  put  on  them,  or  their  con¬ 
dition,  as  Shepherds,  Tent-makers*  Fifhermen* 
and  Carpenters  have  had  ? 

My  honeft  friend,  faid  the  Gentleman,  I  per¬ 
ceive  you  are  well  acquainted  with  Scripture. 
Yes,  Sir,  pretty  well,  blefifed  be  God !  through 
his  mercy  I  learnt  to  read  when  I  was  a  little 
boy  ;  though  reading  was  not  fo  common  when 
I  was  a  child,  as  I  am  told,  through  the  goodnefs 
of  Providence  and  the  generofity  of  the  rich, 
it  is  likely  to  become  now-a-days.  I  believe 
there  is  no  day  for  the  lafl  thirty  years,  that  I  have 
not  peeped  at  my  Bible.  If  we  can’t  find  time 
to  read  a  chapter,  I  defy  any  man  to  fay  he  can’t 
find  time  to  read  a  verfe ;  and  a  fingle  text.  Sir* 
well  followed  and  put  in  practice  every  day* 
would  make  no  bad  figure  at  the  year’s  end  ; 
three  hundred  and  fixty-five  texts,  without  the 
lofs  of  a  moment’s  time,  would  make  a  pretty 
flock,  a  little  golden  treafury,  as  one  may  fay, 
from  new-year’s  day  to  new-year’s  day ;  and  if 


The  Shepherd  of  Sdijbury -Plain.  J 

children  were  brought  up  to  it,  they  would  come 
to  look  for  their  text  as  naturally  as  they  do  for 
their  breakfaft.  No  labouiing  man,  ’tis  true,  has 
fo  much  leifure  as  a  Shepherd,  for  while  the  flock 
is  feeding,  I  am  obliged  to  be  id  ill,  and  at  fuch 
times  I  can  now  and  then  tap  a  flioe  for  my  chil¬ 
dren  or  myfelf,  which  is  a  great  laving  to  us  ; 
and  while  I  am  doing  that  I  repeat  a  bit  of  a  chap¬ 
ter,  which  makes  the  time  pafs  pleafantly  in  this 
wild  folitary  place.  I  can  fay  the  beft  part  of  the 
Bible  by  heart ;  I  believe  I  fhould  not  fay  the  belt 
part,  for  every  part  is  good,  but  I  mean  the  great- 
eid  part.  I  have  led  but  a  lonely  life,  and  have 
often  had  but  little  to  eat,  but  my  Bible  has  been 
meat,  drink,  and  company  to  me,  as  I  may  fay, 
and  when  want  and  trouble  have  come  upon  me, 
I  don’t  know  what  I  fhould  have  done  indeed*. 
Sir,  if  I  had  not  had  the  promifes  of  this  book 
for  my  flay  and  fupport. 

You  have  had  great  difficulties  then  ?  laid 
Mr.  Johnfon.  Why,  as  to  that,  Sir,  not  more 
than  neighbours’  fare  ;  1  have  but  little  caufe  to 
complain,  and  much  to  be  thankful  ;  but  I  have 
had  fome  little  ftruggles,  as  1  will  leave '  you  to 
judge.  I  have  a  wife  and  eight  children,  whom 
I  bred  up  in  that  little  cottage  which  you  fee 
under  the  hill  about  half  a  mile  off.  What,  that 
with  the  fmoke  coming  out  of  the  chimney  f  faid 
the  Gentleman.  O  no,  Sir,  replied  the  Shepherd, 
fmiling,  we  have  fcldorn  fmoke  in  the  evening, 
for  we  have  little  to  cook,  and  firing  is  very  dear 
in  thele  parts.  ’Tis  that  cottage  which  you  fee 
on  the  left  hand  of  the  Church,  near  that  little 

B  4 


S  The  Shepherd  of  Sdijbury-Plain . 

tuft  of  hawthorns.  What  that  hovel  with  only 
one  room  above  and  below,  with  fcarcely  any 
chimney  ?  How  is  it  poffible  you  can  live  there 
with  fuch  a  family  f  O  !  it  is  very  poffible  and 
very  certain  too,  cried  the  Shepherd.  How  many 
better  men  have  been  worfe  lodged  !  how  many 
good  chridians  have  perifhed  in  prilons  and  dun¬ 
geons,  in  companion  of  which  my  cottage  is  a 
palace  !  The  houfe  is  very  well,  Sir,  and  if  the 
rain  did  not  fometimes  beat  down  upon  us  through 
the  thatch  when  we  are  a- bed,  I  fhouid  not 
defire  a  better ;  for  I  have  health,  peace,  and  li¬ 
berty,  and  no  man  maketh  me  afraid. 

Well,  1  will  certainly  call  on  you  before  it  be 
long ;  but  how  can  you  contrive  to  lodge  lb 
many  children  ?  We  do  the  bed  we  can,  Sir, 
My  poor  wife  is  a  very  lickly  woman,  or  we 
fhouid  always  have  done  tolerably  well.  There 
are  no  gentry  in  the  pafifh,  fo  that  die  has  not 
met  with  any  great  abidance  in  her  ficknefs.  The 
good  curate  of  the  parifh,  who  lives  in  that  pretty 
parfonage  in  the  valley,  is  very  willing,  but  not 
very  able  to  aflid  us  on  thefe  trying  occafions, 
for  he  has  little  enough  for  himfelf,  and  a  large 
family  into  the  bargain.  Yet  he  does  what  he 
can,  and  more  than  many  richer  men  do,  and 
more  than  he  can  well  afford.  Befides  that,  his 
prayers  and  good  advice  we  are  always  lure  of, 
and  we  are  truly  thankful  for  that,  for  a  man 
mud  give,  you  know,  Sir,  according  to  what  he 
hath,  and  not  according  to  what  he  hath  not. 

Are  you  in  any  didrefs  at  prelent,  laid  Mr. 
Johnfon  ?  No,  Sir,  thank  God,  replied  the  Shep¬ 
herd.  I  get  my  fnilling  a  day,  and  mod  of  my 


The  Shepherd  of  Salijhury -Plain*  9 

children  will  foon  be  able  to  earn  fomething ;  for 
we  have  only  three  under  five  years  old.  Only  ! 
laid  the  Gentleman,  that  is  a  heavy  burden.  Not 
at  all;  God  fits  the  back  to  it.  Though  my 
wife  is  not  able  to  do  any  out-of-door  work,  yet 
Hie  breeds  up  her  children  to  fuch  habits  of  in— 
duftry,  that  our  little  maids,  before  they  are  fix 
years  old,  can  firft  get  a  halfpenny,  and  then  a 
penny  a  day  by  knitting.  The  boys,  who  are 
too  little  to  do  hard  work,  get  a  trifle  by  keeping 
the  birds  off  the  corn ;  for  this  the  farmers  will 
give  them  a  penny  or  two-pence,  and  now  and 
then  a  bit  of  bread  and  cheefe  into  the  bargain.’ 
When  the  feafon  of  crow-keeping  is  over,  then 
they  glean  or  pick  flones ;  any  thing  is  better 
than  idienefs,  Sir;  and  if  they  did  not  get  a 
farthing  by  it,  I  would  make  them  do  it  juft  the 
fame,  for  the  fake  of  giving  them  early  habits  of 
labour. 

So  you  fee,  Sir,  I  am  not  io  badly  off  as* 
many  are  ;  nay,  if  it  were  not  that  it  cofts  me 
fo  much  in  ’Potecary’s  fluff  for  my  poor  wife,  I 
lliould  reckon  myfelf  well  off;  nay,  I  do  reckon, 
myfelf  well  off,  for,  bleffed  be  God,  he  ha® 
granted  her  life  to  my  prayers,  and  I  would  work 
myfelf  to  a  ’natomy,  and  live  on  one  meal  a  dayy 
to  add  any  comfort  to  her  valuable  life  ;  indeed  J 
have  often  done  the  laft,  and  thought  it  no  great 
1  matter  neither.- 

While  they  were  in  this  part  of  the  difcourfe, 
a  fine  plump  cherry-cheek  little  girl  ran  up  out- 
of  breath,  with  a  fmile  on  her  young  happy  face*? 
and  without  taking  any  notice  of  the  Gentleman.1 


to  The  Shepherd  of  Salt, (bury- Plain. 

cried  out  with  great  joy — Look  here,  father,  only 
fee  how  much  I  have  got  to  !  Mr.  Johnfon  was 
much  ftruck  with  her  fimplicity,  but  puzzled  to 
know  what  was  the  occafion  of  this  great  joy. 
Ori  looking  at  her  he  perceived  a  fmall  quantity 
of  coarfe  wool,  fome  of  which  had  found  its  way 
through  the  holes  of  her  clean,  but  fcanty  and 
ragged  woollen  apron.  The  father  faid,  this  has 
been  a  fuccefsful  day  indeed,  Molly,  but  don't 
you  fee  the  Gentleman  l  Molly  now  made  a 
curtfey  down  to  the  very  ground  y  while  Mr. 
Johnfon  inquired  into  the  caufe  of  the  mutual 
fatisfa&ion  which  both  father  and  daughter  had 
exprdfed,  at  the  unufual  good  fortune  of  the 
day. 

Sir,  faid  the  Shepherd,  poverty  is  a  great 
fharpener  of  the  wits. — My  wife  and  I  cannot 
endure  to  fee  our  children  (poor  as  they  are) 
without  fhoes  and  ftockings,  not  only  on  account 
of  the  pinching  cold  which  cramps  their  poor 
little  limbs,  but  becaufe  it  degrades  and  debafes. 
them  ;  and  poor  people,  who  have  but  little  re¬ 
gard  to  appearances,  will  leldom  be  found  toi 
have  any  great  regard  for  honefly  and  goodnefs ; 
J  don’t  fay  this  is  always  the  cafe  ;  but  I  am  fure 
it  is  fo  too  often.  Now  fhoes  and  ftockings. 
being  very  dear,  we  could  never  afford  to  get 
them  without  a  little  contrivance.  I  muft  fhew 
you  how  I  manage  about  the  fhoes  when  you. 
Ncondefcend  to  call  at  our  cottage.  Sir:  as  to 
ftockings,  this  is  one  way  we  take  to  help  to  get: 
them.  My  young  ones,  who  are  too  little  to  do 
much  work,  fome  times  wander  at  odd  hours  over 
the  hills  for  the  chance  of  finding  what  lictle 


II 


The  Shepherd  of  'Salijhury- Plain . 

wool  the  fheep  may  drop  when  they  rub  them- 
felves,  as  they  are  apt  to  do,  againft  the  bufhes  *. 
Thefe  fcattered  bits  of  wool  the  children  pick 
out  of  the  brambles,  which  I  fee  have  tom  fad 
holes  in  Molly’s  apron  to-day ;  they  carry  this 
v/ool  home,  and  when  they  have,  got  a  pretty 
parcel  together,  their  mother  cards  it ;  for  fhe 
can  fit  and  card  in  the  chimney-corner,  when 
fhe  is  not  able  to  walh,  or  work  about  houfe. 
The  biggeft  girl  then  fpins  it ;  it  does  very  well 
for  us  without  dying,  for  poor  people  mult  not 
(land  for  the  colour  of  their  {lockings.  After 
this  our  little  boys  knit  it  for  themfelves,  while 
they  are  employed  in  keeping  cows  in  the  fields, 
and  after  they  get  home  at  night.  As  for  the 
knitting  the  girls  and  their  mother  do,  that  is 
chiefly  for  fale,  which  helps  to  pay  our  rent. 

Mr.  Jchnfon  lifted  up  his  eyes  in  filent  aflo- 
fiifhmenc  at  the  fhifts  which  honeft  poverty  can 
make  rather  than  beg  or  ileal ;  and  was  furprifed 
to  think  how  many  ways  of  fubfilling  there  are 
which  thofe  who  live  at  their  eafe  little  fulpedl. 
He  fecretly  refolved  to  be  more  attentive  to  his 
•own  petty  expences  than  he  had  hitherto  been  ; 
and  to  be  more  watchful  that  nothing  was  walled 
in  his  family. 

But  to  return  to  the  Shepherd.  Mr.  Johnfon 
old  himy  that  as  he  mull  needs  be  at  his  friend’s 
r'loufe,;  who  lived  many  miles  off,  that  night,  he 

*  This  piece  of  frugal  induftry  is  not  imaginary,  but  a 
real  faft.  as  is  the  character  of  the  Shepherd,  and  his  uu° 
ecmmoiv  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures, 

B  6 


?  £  ci  he  Shepherd  of  Salijbury  -  Plain  , 

could  not,  as  he  wifhed  to  do,  make  a  vifit  to  Ins 
cottage  at  prefent.  But  I  will  certainly  do  it,  laid 
he,  on  my  return,  for  I  long  to  lee  your  wife  and 
her  nice  little  family,  and  to  be  an  eye-witnels  of 
her  neatnefs  and  good  management.  The  poor 
man’s  tears  liar  ted  into  his  eyes  on  hearing  the 
commendation  bellowed  on  his  wife  ;  and  wiping 
them  oft  with  the  Peeve  of*  his  coat,  for  he  was 

not  worth  a  handkerchief  in  the  world,  he  laid _ - 

Oh,  Sir,  you  juft  now,  I  am  afraid,  .called  me  an 
humble  man,  but  indeed  I  am  a  very  proud  one. 
Proud  !  exclaimed  Mr.  Johnfon,  I  hope  not— 
Pride  is  a  great  bn,  and  as  the  poor  are  liable  to 
it  as  well  as  the  rich,  1  o  good  a  man  as  you  feeni 
to  be,  ought  to  guard  againft  it.  Sir,  laid  he, 
you  are  right,  but  I  am  not  proud  of  myfelf,  God  ' 
knows,  I  have  nothing  to  be  proud  of.  I  am  a 
poor  ftnner,  but  indeed.  Sir,  I  am  proud  of  my 
wife  :  the  is  not  only  the  moft  tidy,  notable  wo¬ 
man  on  the  Plain,  but  fhe  is  the  kindeft  wife  and 
mother,  and  the  moft  contented,  thankful  chrif- 
tian  that  I  know.  Laft  year  I  thought  I  fhould 
have  loft  her  in  a  violent  fit  of  the  rheumatifm,  • 
caught  by  going  to  work  too  foon  after  her  lying- 
in,  I  fear  j  ■  for  Tis  but  a  bleak  cold  ids  place,  as 
you  may  fee,  Sir,  in  winter,  and  fometimes  the 
inow  lies  fo  long  under  the  hill,  that  I  can  hardly 
make  myfelf  a  path  to  get  out  and  buy  a  few 
nece Paries  in  the  next  village  ;  and  we  are  afraid 
to  fend  out  the  children,  for  fear  they  fhould  be 
ioft  when  the  fnow  is  deep.  So,  as  1  was  faying, 
the  poor  foul  was  very  bad  indeed,  and  for  feveral 
weeks  loft  the  life  of  all  her  limbs  except  her 
hands  j  a  merciful  Providence  fpared  her  the  u-fe 

6 


The  Shepherd  of  Sal  i/bury -Plain.  13 

«f  thefe,  fo  that  when  fhe  could  not  turn  in  her 
bed,  fhe  could  contrive  to  patch  a  rag  or  two  for 
her  family.  She  was  always  laying,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  great  goodnefs  of  God,  fhe  might 
have  had  her  hands  lame  as  well  -as  her  feet,  or 
the  pally  indead  of  the  rheumatifm,  and  then  fhe 
could  have .  done  nothing — but  nobody  had  fo 
many  mercies  as  floe  had. 

I  will  not  tell  you  what  we  buffered  during  the 
bitter  weather.  Sir,  but  my  wife’s  faith  and  pa¬ 
tience  during  that  trying  time,  were  as  good  a 
leffon  to  me  as  any  fermon  I  could  hear,  and  yet 
Mr.  Jenkins  gave  us  very  comfortable  ones  too, 
that  helped  to  keep  up  rny  fpirits. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  when  my  wife  was  at 
the  word,  as  I  was  coming  out  of  Church,  for  I 
went  one  part  of  the  day,  and  my  elded  daughter 
the  other,  fo  my  poor  wife  was  never  left  alone  ; 
as  I  was  coming  out  of  church,  I  fay,  Mr.  Jen¬ 
kins,  the  minider,  called  out  to  me,  and  afked 
me  how  my  wife  did,  faying  he  had  been  kept 
from  coming  to  fee  her  by  the  deep  fall  of  fnow, 
and  indeed  from  the  parfonage-houfe  to  my 
hovel  it  was  quite  impaffable.  1  gave  him  all  the 
particulars  he  afked,  and  I  am  afraid  a  good 
many  more,  for  my  heart  was  quite  full.  He 
kindly  gave  me  a  (hilling,  and  laid  he  would 
certainly  try  to  pick  out  his  way  and  come  and  fee 
her  in  a  day  or  two. 

While  he  was  talking  to  me,  a  plain  farmer¬ 
looking  Gentleman  in  boots,  who  dood  by, 
lidened  to  all  I  faid,  but  feemed  to  take  no  notice. 
It  was  Mr.  Jenkins’s  wife’s  father,  who  was  come 
topafs-the  Chridmas-holidays  at  the  parfonage 


14  The  Shepherd  of  Salifbury -Plain. 

houfe.  I  had  always  heard  him  fpoken  of  as  a 
plain,  frugal  man,  who  lived  clofe  himfelf,  bur  was 
remarked  to  give  away  more  than  any  of  his  Hiow- 
a-way  neighbours. 

>  Well  !  I -went  home  with  great  lpirits  at  this 
feafonable  and  unexpected  fupply  ;  for  we  had 
tapped  our  laft  fixpence,  and  there  was  little  work 
to  be  had  on  account  of  the  weather.  '  I  told  my 
wife  I  had  not  come  back  empty  handed.  No, 
I  dare  fay  not,  fays  (he,  you  have  been  ferving  a 
maker,  “  who  filleth  the  hungry  with  good  things, 
though  he  fendeth  the  rich  empty  away.”  True, 
Mary,  fays  I,  we  feldom  fail  to  get  good  fpiritual 
food  from  Mr.  Jenkins,  but  to-day  he  has 
kindly  fupplied  our  bodily  wants.  She  was  more 
thankful  when  I  fhe  wed  her  the  (hilling,  than,  I 
dare  fay,  lome  of  your  great  people  are  when 
they  get  a  hundred  pounds. v 

Mr.  John  foil's  heart  fmote  him  when  he  heard 
fuch  a  value  fet  upon  a  (hilling;  furely,  faid  he 
to  himfelf,  I  will  never  wake  another  but  he 
faid  nothing  to  the  Shepherd,  who  thus  purfued. 
his  kory. 

Next  morning  before  I  went  out,,  I  fent  part 
of  the  money  to  buy  a  little  ale  and  brown  fugar 
to  put  into  her  water-gruel ;  which  you  know,. 
Sir*  made  it  nice  and  nourifhing.  I  went  out  to 
cleave  wood  in  a  farm-yard,  for  there  was  no- 
k and  mg  out  on  the  plain,  after  fuch.  fnow  as  had: 
fallen  in  the  night.  I  went  with  a  lighter  heart 
than  ufual,  becaufe  I  had  left  my  poor  wife  a- 
little  better,  and  comfortably  fupplied  for  this 
day,,  and  I  now  refolved  more  than  ever  to  trull' 
God  for  the  fupplies  of  the  next*  When  X  came 


-  The  Shepherd  of  Salifhury- Plain,  i  J 

back  at  night,  my  wife  fell  a  crying  as  foon  as 
Hie  faw  me.  This,  I  own,  I  thought  but  a  bad 
return  for  the  bleffings  fhe  had  fo  lately  received, 
and  fo  I  told  her.  O,  faid  {he,  it  is  too  much, 
we  are  too  rich  ;  I  am  now  frightened,  not  left 
we  fhould  have  no  portion  in  this  world,  but  for 
fear  we  fhould  have  our  whole  portion  in  it.  Look 
here,  John  !  So  faying,  fhe  uncovered  the  bed 
whereon  fine  lay,  and  fhewed  me  two  warm, 
thick,  new  blankets.  I  could  not  believe  my 
own  eyes.  Sir,  becaufe  when  I  went  out  in  the 
morning,  I  had  left  her  with  no  other  covering 
than  our  littfe  old  thin  blue  rug.  I  was  Hill 
more  amazed  when  fhe  put  half  a  crown  into  my 
hand,  telling  me  fhe  had  had  a  vifit  from  Mr. 
Jenkins,  and  Mr.  Jones,  the  latter  of  whom  had 
bellowed  all  thefe  good  things  upon  us.  Thus, 
Sir,  have  our  lives  been  crowned  with  mercies* 
My  wife  got  about  again,  and  I  do  believe, 
under  Providence,  it  was  owing  to  thefe  com¬ 
forts  ;  for  the  rheumatifm.  Sir,  without  blankets 
by  night  and  flannel  by  day,  is  but  a  baddifh 
job,  efpecially  to  people  who  have  but  little  or 
no  fire.  She  will  always  be  a  weakly  body;  but 
thank  God  her  foul  profpers,  and  is  in  health* 
But  I  beg  your  pardon,  Svr,  for  talking  on  at  this 
rate. — Not  at  all,  not  at  all,  faid  Mr.  Johnibni 
I  am  much  pleafed  with  your  flory ;  you  fhali 
certainly  fee  me  in  a  few  days.  Good  night.  So 
faying,  he  flipped  a  crown  into  his  hand  and  rode 
off.  Surely,  faid  the  Shepherd,  “  gocdkefs  and 
mercy  have  followed  me  all  the  days  of  my  Ufef  as 
be  gave  the  money  to  his  wife  when  he  got  home 
at  night. 


9 


16  The  Shepherd  of  Salijbury -Plain. 

As  to  Mr.  Johnfon,  he  found  abundant  matter 
for  h  is  thoughts  during  the  reft  of  his  journey. 
On  the  whole  he  was  more  difpofed  to  envy  than 
to  pity  the  Shepherd.  I  have  feldom  feen,  faid 
he,  fo  happy  a  man.  It  is  a  fort  of  happinefs 
which  the  world  could  not  give,  and  which  I 
plainly  fee,  it  has  not  been  able  to  take  away. 
This  muft  be  the  true  Ipirit  of  religion.  I  lee 
more  and  more,  that  true  goodnefs  is  not  merely 
a  thing  of  words  and  opinions,  but  a  Living 
Principle  brought  into  every  common  adlion  of 
a  man's  life.  What  elfe  could  have  fupported 
this  poor  couple  under  every  bitter  trial  of  want 
and  ficknefs  ?  No,  my  honeft  Shepherd,  I  do 
not  pity,  but  I  refpedt  and  even  honour  thee  ; 
and  I  will  vifit  thy  poor  hovel  on  my  return  to 
Salifbury  with  as  much  pleafure  as  I  am  now  going 
to  the  houfe  of  my  friend. 

If  Mr.  johnfon  keeps  his  word  in  fending  me 
the  account  of  his  vifit  to  the  Shepherd’s  cot¬ 
tage,  I  ft: all  be  very  glad  to  entertain  my  readers 
with  ir0 

’  j  '  .  - 

PART  II. 

I  AM  willing  to  hope  that  my  readers  will  not; 
be  lorry  to  hear  fome  farther  particulars  of  their 
old  acquaintance  the  Shepherd  of  Salijhury -Plain . 1 
They  will  call  to  mind  that  at  the  end  of  the  firft  * 
part,  he  was  returning  home  full  of  gratitude  for 
die  favours  he  had  received  from  Mr.  Johnfom, 


The  Shepherd  of  SaJijbury- Plain.  17 

'whom  we  left  purfuing  his  journey,  after  having 
promifed  to  make  a  vifit  to  the  Shepherd’s 
cottage. 

Mr.  Johnfon,  after  having  paded  lome  time 
with  his  friend,  fat  out  on  his  retnrn  to  Salifhury, 
and  on  the  Saturday  evening  reached  a  very 
fmali  inn,  a  mile  or  two  diftant  from  the  Shep¬ 
herd’s  Village ;  for  he  never  travelled  on  a  Sun- 
day.  hie  went  the  next  morning  to  the  Church 
neared  the  houfe  where  he  had  palled  the  night ; 
and  after  taking  fuch  refrefhment  as  he  could  get 
at  that  houfe,  he  walked  on  to  find  out  the  Shep¬ 
herd’s  cottage.  His  reafon  for  vifiting  him  on  a 
Sunday  was  chiefly,  becaufe  he  fuppofed  it  to  be 
the  only  day  which  the  Shepherd's  employment 
allowed  him  to  pafs  at  home  with  his  family,  and 
as  Mr.  Johnfon  had  been  fir uck  with  his  talk, 
he  thought  it  would  be  neither  unpleafant  nor  un¬ 
profitable  to  obferve  how  a  man  wrho  carried  fuch 
an  appearance  of  piety  fpent  his  Sunday;  for 
though  he  wras  fo  low  in  the  world,  this  Gentleman 
was  not  above  entering  very  clofely  into  his  cha¬ 
racter,  of  which  he  thought  he  fhould  be  able  to 
form  a  better  judgment,  by  feeing  whether  his 
practice  at  home  kept  pace  with  his  profeffions 
abroad.  For  it  is  not  fo  much  by  obferving  how 
people  talk,  as  how  they  live,  that  we  ought  to 
judge  of  their  characters. 

After  a  plealant  walk  Mr.  Johnfon  got  within 
fight  of  the  cottage,  to  which  he  was  directed  by 
the  clump  of  hawthorns  and  the  broken  chimney. 
He  wifhed  to  take  the  family  by  furprifej  and 
walking  gently  up  to  the  houfe,  he  flood  awhile 
to  liften.  The  door  being  half  open,  he  faw  the 


iB  The  Shepherd  of  Salijhury -Plain* 

Shepherd,  (who  looked  fo  refpeftable  in  his 
Sunday  coat  that  he  fhould  hardly  have  known 
him)  his  Wife,  and  their  numerous  young  family, 
drawing  round  their  little  table,  which  was  co¬ 
vered  with  a  clean  though  very  coarfe  cloth. 
There  flood  on  it  a  large  difh  of  potatoes,  a 
brown  pitcher,  and  a  piece  of  a  coarfe  loaf.  The 
wife  and  children  flood  in  filent  attention,  while 
the  Shepherd,  with  up-lifted  hands  and  eyes,  de¬ 
voutly  begged  the  blefling  of  Heaven  on  their 
"  homely  fare,  Mr.  Johnfon  could  not  help  figh- 
ing  to  re  deft,  that  he  had  fometimes  feen  better 
dinners  eaten  with  lefs  appearance  of  thankful- 
nefs. 

The  Shepherd  and  his  wife  then  fat  down  with 
great  feeming  cheerfulnefs,  but  the  children 
flood  ;  and  while  the  mother  was  helping  them, 
little  fre di-coloured  Molly,  who  had  picked  the 
wool  from  the  bufhes  with  fo  much  delight,  cried 
cut,  Father,  I  wifh  I  was  big  enough  to  fay 
grace,  I  am  fure  I  fhould  fay  it  very  heartily  to¬ 
day,  for  I  was  thinking  what  mud  poor  people  do 
who  have  no  fait  to  their  potatoes,  and  do  but 
look,  our  difh  is  quite  full. — That  is  the  true 
way  of  thinking,  Molly,  laid  the  father ;  in 
whatever  concerns  bodily  wants  and  bodily  com¬ 
forts,  it  is  our  duty  to  compare  our  own  lot  with 
the  lot  of  thofe  who  are  worfe  off,  and  this  will 
keep  us  thankful :  on  the  other  hand,  whenever 
we  are  tempted  to  let  up  our  own  wifdom  or 
goodnefs,  we  mud  compare  ourfelves  with  thofe 
who  are  wifer  and  better,  and  that  will  keep  us 
humble.  Molly  was  now  fo  hungry,  and  found 
the  potatoes  fo  good,  that  fhe  had  no  time  to 


The  Shepherd  of  Salijbury-'P lain,  19 

make  any  more  remarks;  but  was  devouring  her 
dinner  very  heartily,  when  the  barking  of  the 
great  deg  drew  her  attention  from  her  trencher 
to  the  door,  and,  fpying  the  ftranger,  fhe  cried 
out,  Look  father,  fee  here,  if  yonder  is  not  the 
good  Gentleman  !  Mr.  Johnfon  finding  himfelf 
difeovered,  immediately  walked  in,  and  'was 
heartily  welcomed  by  the  honed:  Shepherd,  who 
told  his  wife  that  this  was  the  Gentleman  to  whom 
they  were  fo  much  obliged. 

The  good  Woman  began,  as  fome  very  neat 
people  are  rather  too  apt  to  do,  with  making 
many  apologies  that  her  houfe  was  not  cleaner, 
and  that  things  were  not  in  fitter  order  to  receive 
fuch  a  Gentleman.  Mr.  Johnfon,  however,  on 
looking  round,  could  difeover  nothing  but  the 
mod:  perfect  neatnefs.  The  trenchers  on  which 
they  were  eating  were  almoft  as  white  as  their 
linen  ;  and  notwithffanding  the  number  and  fm  a  li¬ 
ne  Is  of  the  children,  there  . was  not  the  lead:  ap¬ 
pearance  of  dirt  or  litter.  The  furniture  was 
very  dmple  and  poor,  hardly  indeed  amounting 
to  bare  necefiaries.  It  confided  of  four  brown 
wooden  chairs,  which,  by  conftant  rubbing,  were 
become  as  bright  as  a  looking-glafs  ;  an  iron  pot 
and  kettle ;  a  poor  old  grate  which  lcarcely  held 
a  handful  of  coal,  and  out  of  which  the  little  fire 
that  had  been  in  it  appeared  to  have  been  taken, 
as  foon  as  it  had  anfwered  the  end  for  which  it 
had  been  lighted,  that  of  boiling  their  potatoes. 
Over  the  chimney  flood  an  old-fadiioned  broad 
bright  candleftick,  and  a  ftil.1  brighter  fpit;  it 
was  pretty  clear  that  this  lad:  wras  kept  rather  for 
ornament  than  ufe.  An  old  carved  elbow  chair. 


20  The  Shepherd  of  Salijbury -Plain. 

and  a  chef!:  of  the  fame  date,  which  (food  in  the 
corner,  were  confidered  as  the  mofb  valuable  part 
of  the  Shepherd’s  goods,  having  been  in  his  fa- 
mily  for  three  generations.  But  all  thefe  were 
lightly  efheemed  by  him,  in  comparifon  of  an¬ 
other  pofTefTion,  which,  added  to  the  above, 
made  up  the  whole  of  what  he  had  inherited  from 
his  father ;  and  which  lait  he  would  not  have 
parted  with,  if  no  other  could  have  been  had,  for 
a  king’s  ranfom  :  this  was  a  large  old  Bible, 
which  lay  on  the  window  feat,  neatly  covered 
with  brown  cloth,  varioufly  patched.  This  facred  _ 
book  was  moil  reverendly  preferved  from  dog’s 
ears,  dirt,  and  every  other  injury,  but  fiich  as 
time  and  much  ufe  had  made  it  fufFer  in  fpite  of 
care.  On  the  clean  white  walls  was  palled  a 
hymn  on  the  Crucifixion  of  our  Saviour,  a  print 
of  the  Prodigal  Son,  the  Shepherd’s  Hymn,  a 
New  Hiftory  of  a  True  Book ,  and  Patient  Joe,  or 
the  Newcaflle  Collier*. 

"  After  the  firft  falutations  were  over,  Mr. 
Johnfon  laid,  that  if  they  v/ould  go  on  quietly 
with  their  dinner,  he  would  fit  down.  Though 
a  good  deal  afhamed,  they  thought  it  more  re- 
fpeClful  to  obey  the  Gentleman,  who  having  call 
his  eye  on  their  (lender  provifions,  gently  rebuked 
the  Shepherd  for  not  having  indulged  himfeff,  as 
it  was  Sunday,  with  a  morfel  of  bacon  to  relifh 
his  potatoes.  The  Shepherd  faid  nothing,  but 
poor  Mary  coloured  and  hung  down  her  head, 
laying,  Indeed,  Sir,  it  is  not  my  fault,  I  did  beg 
my  huiband  to  allow  himfelf  a  bit  of  meat  to-day 


*  Printed  for  the  Cheap  Repository,  price  2d,  each* 


The  Shepherd  of  Salijhury -Plain.  2x 

out  of  your  honour’s  bounty  ;  but  he  was  too 
good  to  do  it,  and  it  is  all  for  my  fake.  The 
Shepherd  feemed  unwilling  to  come  to  an  expla¬ 
nation,  but  Mr.  Johnfon  defired  Mary  to  go  on* 
So  fhe  continued ;  you  muft  know,  Sir, 4  that  both 
of  us,  next  to  a  fin,  dread  a  debt,  and  indeed 
in  fome  cafes  a  debt  is  a  fin  ;  but  with  all  our  care 
and  pains  we  have  never  been  able  quite  to  pay  off 
the  dodtor’s  bill  for  that  bad  fit  of  rheumatifm 
which  I  had  laft  winter.  Now  when  you  were 
pleafed  to  give  my  hufband  that. kind  prefent  the 
other  day,  I  heartily  defired  him  to  buy  a  bit  of 
meat  for  Sunday,  as  I  laid  before,  that  he  might 
have  a  little  refrefhment  for  himfelf  out  of  your 
kindnefs.  But,  anfwered  he,  Mary,  it  is  never 
out  of  my  mind  long  together,  that  we  ftill  owe 
a  few  fhillings  to  the  doeftor  (and  thank  God  it 
is  all  we  did  owe  in  the  world).  Now  if  I  carry 
him  this  money  direflly  it  will  not  only  fhew  him 
our  honefty  and  our  good  will  j  but  it  will  be  an 
encouragement  to  him  to  come  to  you  another 
time,  in  cafe  you  fhould  be  taken  once  more  in 
fuch  a  bad  fit  ;  for  I  muff  own,  added  my  poor 
hufband,  that  the  thought  of  your  being  fo  terri¬ 
bly  ill  without  any  help,  is  the  only  misfortune 
that  I  want  courage  to  face. 

JTere  the  grateful  woman’s  tears  ran  down  fo 
fall  that  flie  could  not  go  on.  She  wiped  them 
with  the  corner  of  her  apron,  and  humbly  beg¬ 
ged  pardon  for  making  fo  free.  Indeed,  Sir, 
laid  the  Shepherd,  though  my  wife  is  full  as 
unwilling  to  be  in  debt  as  myfelf,  yet  I  could 
hardly  prevail  on  her  to  confent  to  my  paying, 
this  money  juft  then,  becaufe  fhe  faid  it  was  hard 


22  The  Shepherd  of  Salijbury -Plain. 

I  fhould  not  have  a  tade  of  the  Gentleman's 
bounty  myfelf.  But  for  once,  Sir,  I  would  have 
my  own  way.  For  you  mud  know,  as  I  pais 
bed  part  of  my  time  alone,  tending  my  fheep, 
dis  a  great  point  with  me,  Sir,  to  get  comfort¬ 
able  matter  for  my  own  thoughts  lb  that  *tis 
rather  felf-intered  in  me  to  allow  myfelf  in  no 
pleafures  and  no  practices  that  won’t  bear  think¬ 
ing  on  over  and  over.  For  when  one  is  a  good 
deal  alone  you  know,  Sir,  ail  one’s  bad  deeds 
do  rufh  in  upon  one,  as  I  may  fay,  and  fo  tor¬ 
ment  one,  that  there  is  no  true  comfort  to  be 
had  but  in  keeping  clear  of  wrong  doings,  and 
falfe  pleafures ;  and  that  I  fuppofe  may  be  one 
reafon  why  fo  many  folks  hate  to  day  a  bit  by 
themfelves.— But  as  I  was  faying — when  I  came 
to  think  the  matter  over  on  the  hill  yonder,  faid  I 
to  myfelf,  a  good  dinner  is  a  good  thing,  I  grant, 
and  yet  it  will  be  but  cold  comfort  to  me  a  week 
after,  to  be  able  to  fay— to  be  fure  I  had  a  nice 
fhoulder  of  mutton  lad  Sunday  for  dinner,  thanks 
to  the  good  Gentleman*  but  then  I  am  in  debt.™ 

I  had  a  rare  dinner,  that’s  certain,  but  the  pleafure 
of  that  has  long  been  over,  and  the  debt  dill  re¬ 
mains.  I  have  fpent  the  crown,  and  now  if  my 
poor  wife  fhould  be  taken  in  one  of  thofe  fits 
again,  die  fhe  mud,  unlefs  God  work  a  miracle 
to  prevent  it,  for  I  can  get  no  help  for  her.  This 
thought  fettled  all ;  and  I  fet  off  direbtly  and  paid 
the  crown  to  the  Dobtor  with  as  much  cheerful- 
nefs  as  I  fhould  have  felt  on  fitting  down  to  the 
fatted  fhoulder  of  mutton  that  ever  was  roaded. 
And  if  I  was  contented  at  the  time,  think  how  ' 
much  more  happy  I  have  been  at  the  remem- 


The  Shepherd  of  Salijhury-  Plain.  2  j 

brance  !  O  Sir,  there  are  no  pleafures  worth  the 
name  but  luch  as  bring  no  plague  or  penitence 
after  them. 

Mr.  Johnfon  was  fatisfied  with  the  Shepherd's 
reaions  ;  and  agreed  that  though  a  good  dinner 
was  not  to  be  delpifed,  yet  it  was  not  worthy  to  be 
compared  with  a  contented  Mind ,  which  (as  the 
1  Bible  truly  fays)  is  a  continual  Feaft.  But  come, 
faid  the  good  Gentleman,  what  have  we  got  in 
this  brown  mug  ?  As  good  water,  faid  the  Shep¬ 
herd,  as  any  in  the  King’s  dominions.  I  have 
heard  of  countries  beyond  fea  in  which  there  is 
no  wholefome  water  ;  nay,  I  have  been  myfelf  in 
a  great  town  not  far  off  where  they  are  obliged 
to  buy  all  the  water  which  they  get,  while  a  good 
'Providence  fends  to  my  very  door  a  fprino-  as 
(dear  and  fine  as  Jacob’s  well.  When 
tempted  to  repine  that  1  have  often  no  other  drink, 
I  call  to  mind,  that  it  was  nothing  better  than  a 
cup  of  cold  water  which  the  woman  of  Samaria 
drew  for  the  greateft  gueft  that  ever  vifited  this 
world. 

Very  well,  replied  Mr.  Johnfon;  but  as 
your  honefty  has  made  you  prefer  a  poor  meal  to 
being  in  debt,  I  will  at  leaft  fend  and  get  fome- 
thing  for  you  to  drink.  I  faw  a  little  public 
houfe  juft  by  the  church,  as  I  came  along.  Let 
that  little  roly-faced  fellow  fetch  a  mug  of 
beer.  So  faying,  he  looked  full  at  the  boyfwho 
did  not  offer  to  ftir  ;  but  call  an  eye  at  his 
father,  to  know  what  he  was  to  do.  Sir,  faid 
the  Shepherd,  I  hope  we  fhall  not  appear  un¬ 
grateful,  if  we  feern  to  refufe  your  favour  *  my 
little  boy  would,  I  am  fure,  fty  to  lerve  you  ou 


24  The  Shepherd  of  Salijbury -Plain. 

any  other  occafion.  But,  good  Sir,  it  is  Sunday', 
and  fhould  any  of  my  family  be  feen  at  a  pub¬ 
lic  houfe  on  a  Sabbath-day,  it  would  be  a  much 
greater  grief  to  me  than  to  drink  water  all  my 
life.  I  am  often  talking  againft  theie  doings  \ 
to  others,  and  if  I  fhould  fay  one  thing  and  do 
another,  you  can’t  think  what  an  advantage  it 
would  give  many  of  my  neighbours  over  me, 
who  would  be  glad  enough  to  report,  that  they 
had  caught  the  Shepherd’s  fon  at  the  ale-houfc, 
without  explaining  how  it  happened.  Chriftians 
you  know,  Sir,  muft  be  doubly  watchful,  or  they 
will  not  only  bring  difgrace  on  themfelves,  but 
what  is  much  worfe,  on- that  holy  name  by  which  I 
they  are  called. 

Are  you  not  a  little  too  cautious,  my  honeft 
friend  ?  laid  Mr.  Johnfon.  I  humbly  afk  your 
pardon,  Sir,  replied  the  Shepherd,  if  I  think  that 
is  impoffible.  In  my  poor  notion  I  no  more  un¬ 
derhand  how  a  man  can  be  too  cautious,  than 
how  he  can  be  too  ftrong,  or  too  healthy. 

You  are  right  indeed,  faid  Mr.  Johnfon,  as 
a  general  principle,  but  this  hruck  me  as  a 
very  fmall  thing.— Sir,  faid  the  Shepherd,  I 
am  afraid  you  will  think  me  very  bold,  but 
you  encourage  me  to  ipeak  out. — ’Pis  what 
I  wifh,  faid  the  Gentleman.  Then,  Sir,  re¬ 
fumed  the  Shepherd,  I  doubt,  if  where  there 
is  a  temptation  to  do  wrong,  any  thing  can  be 
called  fmall ;  that  is,  in  fhort,  if  there  is  any 
fuch  thing  as  a  imall,  w'ilful  fin.  A  poor  man, 
like  me,  is  feldom  called  out  to  do  great  things, 
fo  that  it  is  not  by  a  few  linking  deeds  his  cha- 
isiler  can  be  judged  by  his  neighbours,  but  by 


The  Shepherd  of  Salijbury -Plain,  25 

the  little  round  of  daily  cufloms  he  allows  him- 
felt  in.— While  they  were  thus  talking,  the  chil¬ 
dren  who  had  flood  very  quietly  behind,  and 
had  not  flirred  a  foot,  now  began  to  (camper 
about  all^  at  once,  and  in  a  moment  ran  to  the 
window-feat  to  pick  up  their  little  old  hats.  Mr. 
Johnfon  looked  furprifed  at  this  difturbance  j  the 
Shepherd  afked  his  pardon,  telling  him  it  was 
the  found  of  the  Church  Bell  which  had  been 
the  caufe  of  their  rudenefs ;  for  their  mother 
had  brought  them  up  with  fuch  a  fear  of  bein<? 
too  late  for  Church,  that  it  was  but  who  could 
catch  the  faff  flroke  of  the  bell,  and  be  fail  ready. 
He  had  always  taught  them  to  think  that  nothin^ 
was  more  indecent  than  to  get  into  Church  after 
it  was  begun ;  for  as  the  fervice  opened  with  an 
exhortation  to  repentance,  and  a  confeffion  of 
hn,  it  looked  very  prefumptuous  not  to  be  ready 
to  join  in  it;  it  looked  as  if  people  did  not  feel 
themfelves  to  be  finners.  And  though  fuch  as 
lived  at  a  great  diflance  might  plead  difference 

clocks  as  an  excufe,  yet  thofe  who  lived  with- 
n  the  found  of  the  bell,  could  pretend  neither  ig- 
lorance  nor  miflake.  & 

Mary  and  her  children  fet  forward.  Mr, 
[ohnfon  and  the  Shepherd  followed,  taking  care 
o  talk  the  whole  way  on  fuch  fubje&s  as  might 
it  them  for  the  iblemn  duties  of  the  place^to 
vhich  they  were  going.  I  have  often  been  ferry 
0  obferve,  faid  Mr.  Johnfon,  that  many  who 
re  reckoned  decent,  good  kind  of  people,  and 
mo  would  on  no  account  negledt  going  to 
mutch,  yet  feern  to  care  but  little  in  what  frame 

C 


z6 


The  Shepherd  of  Salijbury- Plain. 

or  temper  of  mind  they  go  thither.  They  will 
talk  of  their  worldly  concerns  till  they  get  within 

the  door,  and  then  take  them  UP.^"*KVCJJ 
minute  the  fermon  is  over,  which  makes  me 
ready  to  fear  they  lay  too  much  ftrefs  on  tl e 
mere7  form  of  going  to  a  place  of  worlhip.  , 
Now,  for  my  part,  I  always  find  that  it  squires 
a  little  time  to  bring  my  mind  into  a  ftate -.  Bt 
do  any  common  bufinefs  well,  much  mote  this 
p-reat  and  moft  neceffary  bufinefs- of  all.  > 
Sir,  faid  the  Shepherd,  and  then  I  think  too  how 
bufy  I  fhould  be  in  preparing  my  mind,  if  1  was 
goina  into  the  prefence  of  a  great  Gentleman,  or 
a  Lord,  or  the  King;  and  fhall  the  King  of  kings 
be  treated  with  lefs  refpeft  ?  Befides  one  likes  to 
fee  people  feel  as  if  going  to  Church  was  a  thing  j 
of  choice  and  pleafure,  as  well  as  a  duty,  and 
that  they  were  as  defirous  not  to  be  the  latt  there, 
as  they  would  be  if  they  were  .going  to  a  tealt,  or 

a  fair.  * 

After  fervice,  Mr.  Jenkins  the  Clergyman, 

who  was  well  acquainted  with  the  character  o 
Mr.  Johnfon,  and  had  a  great  refpect  for  him, 
accofted  him  with  much  civility ;  exprefiing  his 
concern  that  he  could  not  enjoy  juft  now  lo 
much  of  his  converfation  as  he  wifhed,  as  he  was 
obliged  to  vifit  a  fick  perfon  at  a  diftance,  but 
hoped  to  have  a  little  talk  with  him  before  he 
left  the  Village.  As  they  walked  along  together, 
Mr.  Johnfon  made  fuch  enquiries  about  the 
Shepherd,  as  ferved  to  confirm  him  in  the  high 
opinion  he  entertained  of  his  piety,  good  fenfe, 
induftry,  and  felf-denial.  They  parted,  the  Cler- 


) 


The  Shepherd  of  Salijbury-Plain.  27 

gyman  promifing  to  call  in  at  the  cottage  in  his 
way  home. 

■The  Shepnerdj  who  took  it  for  granted  that 
Mr.  Johnfon  was  gone  to  the  Parfonage,  walked 
home  with  his  wife  and  children,  and  was  begin- 
mng  in  his  nlual  way  to  catechife  and  inftruft 
his  family,  when  Mr.  Johnfon  came  in,  and  in¬ 
filled  that  the  Shepherd  ihould  go  on  with  his 
inftrudtions,  juft  as  if  he  were  not  there.  This 
Gentleman,  who  was  very  defirous  of  behm  ufe- 
ful  to  his  own  fervants  and  workmen  in  the  way 
of  religious  inftruction,  was  fometirr.es  forry  to 
find,  that  though  he  took  a  good  deal  of  pains, 
they  did  not  now  and  then  quite  underftand  him, 
tor  though  his  meaning  was  very  good,  his  lan¬ 
guage  was  not  always  very  plain;  and  though 
die  things  he  faid  were  not  hard  to  be  undet- 
dood,  yet  the  words  were,  efpecially  to  fuch  as 
•vere  very  ignorant.  And  he  now  began  to  find 
rot,  that  if  people  were  ever  fo  wife  and  good 
'et  11  they  had  not  a  fimple,  agreeable,  and  fami- 
lar  way  of  expreffing  themfelves,  fome  of  their 
dam  hearers  would  not  be  much  the  better  for 
hem.  For  this  reafon  he  was  not  above  liften- 
ig  to  the  plain,  humble  way  in  which  this  honeft 
nan  taught  his  family,  for  though  he  knew 
lathe  himfelr  had  rnany  advantages  over  the 
i  jiepherd,  had  more  learning,  and  could  teach 
im  many  things,  yet  he  was  not  too  proud  to 
am  even  of  fo  poor  a  man,  in  any  point  where 
e  thought  the  Shepherd  might  have  the  advan¬ 
ce  of  him. 

This  Gentleman  was  much  pleafed  with  the 

C  2  , 


2#  The  Shepherd  of  SciUJhury-Pleihi • 

knowledge  and  piety  which  he  difeovered  in  the 
anfwers  of  the  children;  and  defired  the  Shep¬ 
herd  to  tell  him  how  he  contrived  to  keep  up  a 

fenfe  of  divine  things  in  his  own  nnnd,  and  in 
that  of  his  family  with  lo  little  leifure,  an  o 
little  reading.  6  as  to  that.  Sir,  laid  the  Shep¬ 
herd,  we  do  not  read  much  except  in  one  book, 
to  be  fire ;  but  my  hearty  prayer  for  God  s 
bleffing  on  the  ufe  of  that  book,  what  little  know¬ 
ledge  is  needful  feems  to  come  of  couife,  as.  it 
were.  And  my  chief  ftudy  has  been  to  bring 
the  fruits  of  the  Sunday  reading  into  the  week  s 
bufinefs,  and  to  keep  up  the  fame  lenfe  of  God 
in  the  heart,  when  the  Bible  is  in  the  cupboard 
as  when  it  is  in  the  hand.  In  fhort,  to  app  y 
what  I  read  in  the  book,  to  what  I  meet  with  in 

I  don’t  quite  underftand  you,  faid  Mr.  John- 
fon.  Sir,  replied  the  Shepherd,  I  have  but  a 
poor  gift  at  conveying  thefe  things  to  others, 
though  I  have  much  comfort  from  them  in  my 
own  mind ;  but  I  am  fure  that  the  mo  'on(f 
rant  and  hard-working  people,  who  are  in  earned 
about  their  falvation,  may  help  to  keep  up 
devout  thoughts  and  good  affedhons -during  tie 
week,  though  they  have  hardly  any  time  to  loot 
at  a  book;  and  it  will  help  them  to  keep  out 
bad  thoughts  too,  which  is  no  fmall  matter. 
But  then  they  mull:  know  the  Bible  ;  they  mult 
have  read  the  word  of  God  diligently ;  that  is  a 
kind  of  ftock  in  trade  for  a  Chnftian  to  fet  up 
with;  and  it  is  this  which  makes  me  fo.  careful 
in  teaching  it  to  my  children  ;  and  even  in  Bor¬ 
ing  their  memories  with  Pialms  and  Chapters. 


Th  e  Shepherd  of  Salijhury -Plain.  29 

This  is  a  great  help  to  a  poor,  hard-working 
man,  who  will  fcarcely  meet  with  any  thing  but 
what  he  may  turn  to  fome  good  account.  If 
one  lives  in  the  fear  and  the  love  of  God,  al- 
moft  every  thing  one  fees  abroad  will  teach  one 
to  adore  his  power  and  goodnefs,  and  bring  to 
mind  fome  text  of  Scripture,  which  fhall  fill  the 
heart  with  thankfulnefs,  and  the  mouth  with 
praife.  When  I  look  upwards,  the  Heavens  de¬ 
clare  the  glory  of  God ;  and  fhall  I  be  filent  and 
ungrateful  ?  If  I  look  round  and  fee  the  valleys 
ftanding  thick  with  corn,  how  can  I  help  blefling 
that  Power  who  giveth  ms  all  things  richly  to  en¬ 
joy  ?  I  may  learn  gratitude  from  the  beafts  of  the 
field,  for  the  Ox  knoweth  his  owner ,  and  the  Hfs 
his  Majlers  crib ,  and  fhall  a  Chriftian  not  know, 
fhall  a  Chriftian  not  conftder,  what  great  things 
God  has  done  for  him  ?  I,  who  am  a  Shepherd, 
endeavour  to  fill  my  foul  with  a  conftant  re¬ 
membrance  of  that  good  Shepherd,  who  feedeth 
me  in  green  pajlures ,  and  maketh  me  to  lie  down 
befide  the  fill  waters ,  and  whofe  rod  and  faff  com¬ 
fort  me. 

You  are  happy,  faid  Mr.  Johnfon,  in  this 
retired  life,  by  which  you  efcape  the  corrup¬ 
tions  of  the  world. — 'Sir,  faid  the  Shepherd, 
I  do  not  efcape  the  corruptions  of  my  own 
evil  nature.  Even  there,  on  that  wild  folitary 
hill,  I  can  find  out  that  my  heart  is  prone  to 
evil  thoughts.  I  fuppofe.  Sir,  that  different 
ftates  have  different  temptations.  You  great 
folks  that  live  in  the  world,  perhaps,  are  ex- 


30  The  Shepherd  of  Salifbury-Plain . 

pofed  to  fdme,  of  which  fuch  a  poor  man  as  I 
am  know  nothing.  But  to  one  who  leads  a  lonely 
life,  like  me,  eviHhoughts  are  a  chief  befetting 
fin;  and  I  can  no  more  withHand  thefe  without 
the  grace  of  God,  than  a  rich  gentleman  can  with- 
Hand  the  fnares  of  evil  company,  without  the  fame 
grace.  And  I  feel  that  I  Hand  in  need  of  God's 
help  continually,  and  if  he  Hiould  give  me  up  to 
my  own  evil  heart  I  fhould  be  loll. 

Mr.  Johnfon  approved  of  the  Shepherd's 
fmcerity,  for  he  had  always  obferved,  that  where 
there  was  no  humility,  and  no  watchfulnefs 
againH  fin,  there  was  no  religion ;  and  he  faid, 
that  the  man  who  did  not  feel  himfelf  to  be  a 
Hnner,  in  his  opinion  could  not  be  a  ChriHian. 

JuH  as  they  were  in  this  part  of  their  difcourfe, 
Mr.  Jenkins,  the  clergyman,  came  in.  After 
the  ufual  falutations,  he  laid,  Well,  Shepherd,  I 
wifh  you  joy;  I  know  you  will  be  lorry  to  gain 
any  advanrage  by  the  death  of  a  neighbour;  but 
old  Wilfon,  my  clerk,  was  fo  infirm,  and  I  truH  fo 
well  prepared,  that  there  is  no  reafon  to  be  forry 
for  his  death.  I  have  been  to  pray  by  him,  but 
he  died  while  I  Haul.  I  have  always  intended  you 
fhdlild  fucceed  to  his  place  ;  'tis  no  great  matter 
of  profit,  but  every  little  is  fomething. 

No  great  matter,  Sir !  cried  the  Shepherd, 
indeed  it  is  a  great  thing  to  me  ;  it  will  more 
than  pay  my  rent.  Bleffed  be  God  for  all  his 
goodnefs.  Mary  faid  nothing,  but  lifted  up  her 
eyes  full  of  tears  in  filent  gratitude. 

I  am  glad  of  this  little  circumHance,  faid  Mr. 
Jenkins,  not  only  for  your  fake,  but  for  the  fake 


The  Shepherd  of  Salifhtry-Plain.  3 1 

of  the  office  itfelf.  I  fo  heartily  reverence  every 
religious  inftitution,  that  I  would  never  have  even 
the  Amen  added  to  the  excellent  prayers  of  our 
church,  by  vain  or  profane  lips  3  and  if  it  depended 
on  me,  there  ffiould  be  no  fuch  thing  in  the  land 
as  an  idle,  drunken,  or  irreligious  Pariffi-Clerk. 
Sorry  I  am  to  fay  that  this  matter  is  not  always 
fufficiently  attended  to,  and  that  I  know  fome  of 
a  very  indifferent  character. 

Mr.  Johnfon  now  enquired  of  the  Clergyman, 
whether  there  were  many  children  in  the  pariffi. 
More  than  you  would  expedt,  replied  he,  from 
the  feeming  fmallnefs  of  it,  but  there  are  fome 
little  hamlets  which  you  do  not  fee. — I  think,  re¬ 
turned  Mr.  Johnfon,  I  recoiled  that  in  the  con¬ 
vention  I  had  with  the  Shepherd  on  the  hill 
yonder,  he  told  me  you  had  no  Sunday  School. 
— I  am  forry  to  fay  we  have  none,  faid  the  Mi- 
nifter 3  I  do  what  I  can  to  remedy  this  misfor¬ 
tune  by  public  catechifing;  but  having  two  or 
three  Churches  to  ferve,  I  cannot  give  fo  much 
time  as  I  wifh  to  private  inftrudion  3  and  hav¬ 
ing  a  large  family  of  my  own,  and  no  affiftance 
from  others,  I  have  never  been  able  to  eftablifli 
a  fchool. 

There  is  an  excellent  inftitution  in  London,  faid 
Mr.’ Johnfon,  called  the  Sunday-School  Society, 
which  kindly  gives  books  and  other  helps,  on  the 
application  of  fuch  pious  Minifters  as  (land  in 
need  of  their  aid,  and  which  I  am  fure  would 
have  affifted  you  3  but  I  think  we  ffiall  be  able 
to  do  fomething  ourfelves. — Shepherd,  continued 
he,  if  I  were  a  King,  and  had  it  in  my  power  to 

C  4 


2  2  The  Shepherd  of  S alijlury  -  Plain 

make  you  a  rich  and  a  great  man,  with  a  wrord 
fpeaking,  I  would  not  do  it.  Thole  who  are  railed 
by  fome  ludden  ftroke,  much  above  the  ftation 
in  which  Divine  Providence  had  placed  them, 
feldom  turn  out  very  good,  or  very  happy.  I 
have  never  had  any  great  things  in  my  power, 
but  as  far  as  I  have  been  able,  I  have  been  always 
glad  to  a fli ft  the  worthy.  •  I  have,  however,  never 
attempted  or  defined  to  fet  any  poor  man  much 
above  his  natural  condition,  but  it  is  a  plea furc  to 
me  to  lend  him  fuch  aftiftance,  as  may  make  that 
condition  more  eafy  to  himfelf,  and  to  put  him  in 
a  way  which  fhall  call  him  to  the  performance  of 
more  duties  than  perhaps  he  could  have  per¬ 
formed  without  my  help,  and  of  performing  them 
in  a  better  manner.— What  rent  do  you  pay  for 
this  cottage  ? 

Fifty  fhillings  a  year.  Sir.  . d 

It  is  in  a  fad  tattered  condition  \  is  there  not  a 
better  to  be  had  in  the  village  ? 

That  in  which  the  poor  Clerk  lived,  faid  the 
Clergyman,  is  not  only  more  tight  and  whole, 
but  has  two  decent  chambers,  and  a  very  large, 
light  kitchen. — That  will  be  very  convenient, 
replied  Mr.  Johnfon,  pray  what  is  the  rent  ? 
1  think,  faid  the  Shepherd,  poor  neighbour  Wil- 
fon  gave  fomewhat  about  four  pounds  a  year,  or 
it  might  be  guineas  — -Very  well,  faid  Mr. 
Johnfon,  and  what  will  the  Clerk’s  place  be 
worth,  think  you  ?  About  three  pounds,  was 
the  anfwer. 

Now,  continued  Mr.  Johnfon,  my  plan  is, 
that  the  Shepherd  fhoulcl  take  that  houfe  imme¬ 
diately;  for  as  the  poor  man  is  dead,  there  will 


The  Shepherd  of  Salijbury- Plain,  33 


be  no  need  of  waiting  till  quarter-day,  if  I  make 
tip  the  difference.  True,  Sir,  faid  Mr.  Jenkins, 
and  I  am  fure  my  wife’s  father,  whom  I  expe<5t  to¬ 
morrow,  will  willingly  affift  a  little  towards  buy¬ 
ing  fome  of  the  Clerk’s  old  goods.  And  the 
fooner  they  remove  the  better,  for  poor  Mary 
caught  that  bad  rheumatifm  by  deeping  under  a 
leaky  thatch.  The  Shepherd  was  too  much 
moved  to  fpeak,  and  Mary  could  hardly  fob  out. 
Oh  Sir,  you  are  too  good  3  indeed  this  houfe  will 
do  very  well.  It  may  do  very  well  for  you  and 
your  children,  Mary,  faid  Mr.  Johnfon,  gravely, 
but  it  will  not  do  for  a  fchool ;  the  kitchen  is 
neither  large  nor  light  enough.  Shepherd,  con¬ 
tinued  he,  with  your  good  Minifter’s  leave  and 
kind  afiiftance,  I  propofe  to  let  up  in  this  pariOi 
a  Sunday  School,  and  to  make  you  the  maker. 
It  will  not  at  all  interfere  with  your  weekly 
calling,  and  it  is  the  only  lawful  way  in  which  you 
could  turn  the  Sabbath  into  a  day  of  fome  little 
probe  to  your  family,  by  doing,  as  I  hope,  a  great 
deal  of  good  to  the  fouls  of  others.  The  reft  of 
the  week  you  will  work  as  ufual.  The  difference 
of  rent  between  this  houfe  and  the  Clerk’s,  I  fhall 
pay  myfelf,  for  to  put  you  into  a  better  houfe  at 
your  own  expence  would  be  no  great  ad  of  kind- 
nefs.  — As  for  honeft  Mary,  who  is  not  fit  for  hard 


labour,  or  any  out-of-door  work,  I  propofe  to  en¬ 
dow  a  fmall  weekly  fchool,  of  which  (he  ihall  be 
the  miftrefs,  and  employ  her  notable  turn  to  good 
account,  by  teaching  ten  or  a  dozen  girls  to  knit, 
few,  fpin,  card,  or  any  other  ufeful  way  of  get¬ 
ting  their  bread  j  for  all  this  I  Ihall  only  pay  he 

c  5 


34  The  Shepherd  of  Salijbury -Plain. 

the  ufual  price,  for  I  am  not  going  to  make  you 
rich,  but  ufeful. 

Not  rich,  Sir  ?  cried  the  Shepherd.  How  can 
I  ever  be  thankful  enough  for  fuch  bleffings  ? 
And -will  my  poor  Mary  have  a  dry  thatch  over 
her  head  ?  and  fhall  I  be  able  to  fend  for  the 
doftor  when  I  am  like  to  lofe  her  ?  Indeed  my 
cup  runs  over  with  bleffings,  I  hope  God  will 
give  me  humility. — HI  ere  he  and  Mary  looked  at 
each  other  and  burft  into  tears.  The  Gentle¬ 
men  faw  their  diftrefs,  and  kindly  walked  out 
upon  the  little  green  before  the  door,  that  thefe 
honeft  people  might  give  vent  to  their  feelings. 
As  foon  as  they  were  alone  they  crept  into  one 
corner  of  the  room,  where  they  thought  they 
could  not  be  feeri,  and  fell  on  their  knees,  de¬ 
voutly  bleffing  and  praifing  God  for  his  mercies. 
Never  were  heartier  prayers  prefented,  than  this 
grateful  couple  offered  up  for  their  benefactors. 
The  warmth  of  their  gratitude  could  only  be 
equalled  by  the  earneftnefs  with  which  they  be- 
fought  the  bleffing  pf  God  on  the  work  in  which 
they  were  going  to  engage. 

The  two  Gentlemen  now  left  this  happy  family, 
and  walked  to  the  Parfonage,  where  the  evening 
was  fpent  in  a  manner  very  edifying  to  Mr. 
Johnfon,  who  the  next  day  took  all  proper  mea- 
fures  for  putting  the  Shepherd  in  immediate  pof- 
feffion  of' his  now  comfortable  habitation.  Mr. 
Jenkins’s  father-in-law,  the  worthy  Gentleman 
who  gave  the  Shepherd’s  wife  the  blankets,  in 
the  firft  part  of  this  hiftory,  arrived  at  the  Par¬ 
fonage  before  Mr.  Johnfon  left  it,  and  affifted  in 
fating  up  the  Clerk’s  cottage. 


rIhe  Shepherd  of  Salif bury -Thin.  35 

Mr.  Johnfon  took  his  leave,  promifing  to  call 
on  the  worthy  Minifter  and  his  new  Clerk  once  a 
year,  in  his  fummer’s  journey  over  the  Plain,  as 
long  as  it  fhould  pleafe  God  to  fpare  his  life. — 
We  hope  he  will  never  fail  to  give  us  an  account 
of  thele  vifits,  which  we  fhall  be  glad  to  lay  be¬ 
fore  our  readers,  if  they  fhould  contain  inftruftion 
or  amufement,  Z, 


y 


\ 

\  / 


THE 


Jack  Brown  and  James  Stock,  were  two  lads 
apprenticed  at  nearly  the  fame  time,  to  Mr. 
Williams,  a  Shoemaker,  in  a  finall  town  in  Ox- 
fordfhire  :  thev  were  pretty  near  the  fame  age, 
but  of  very  different  charafters  and  difpofitions. 

Brown  was  eldeff  fon  to  a  fairnei  in  good  cir- 
cumftances,  who  gave  the  ufual  apprentice  fee 
with  him.  Being  a  wild,  giddy  boy,  whom  his 
father  could  not  well  manage  or  inffr in  fa,  m- 
inv,  he  thought  it  better  to  fend  him  out  to  learn 
a  trade  at  a  diftance,  than  to  let  him  idle  about 


The  Two  Shoemakers.  37 

at  home  ;  for  Jack  always  preferred  bird’s-neft- 
ing  and  marbles  to  any  other  employment ;  and 
would  trifle  away  half  the  day,  when  his  father 
thought  he  was  at  lchool,  with  any  boys  he  could 
meet  with,  who  were  as  idle  as  him  felt  and 
never  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  do,  or  to 
learn  any  thing  while  a  game  at  taw  could  be 
had  for  love  or  money.  All  this  time  Ins  little 
brothers,*  much  younger  than  himfelf,  were  be¬ 
ginning  to  follow  the  plough,  or  to  carry  the 
corn  to  mill  as  foon  as  they  were  able  to  mount  a 
cart-horfe. 

Jack,  however,  who  was  a  lively  boy,  and  did 
not  naturally  want  either  fenfe  or  good  nature, 
might  have  turned  out  well  enough,  if  he  had 
not  had  the  misfortune  of  being  his  mother’s  fa¬ 
vourite.  She  concealed  and  forgave  all  his  faults. 

. — To  be  fure  he  was  a  little  wild,  fhe  would  fay, 
but  he  would  not  make  the  worfe  man  for  that, 
for  Jack  had  a  good  fpirit  of  his  own,  and  fhe 
would  not  have  it  broke,  and  fo  make  a  mope  of 
the  boy.  The  farmer,  for  a  quiet  life,  as  it  is 
called,  gave  up  all  thefe  points  to  his  wife ;  and, 
with  them,  gave  up  the  future  virtue  and  happi- 
nefs  of  his  child.  He  was  a  laborious  and  in- 
duftrious  man,  but  he  had  no  religion  ;  he  thought 
only  of  the  gains  and  advantages  of  the  prefent 
day,  and  never  took  the  future  into  the  account. 
His  wife  managed  him  entirely,  and  as  fhe  was 
really  notable,  he  did  not  trouble  his  head  about 
any  thing  farther.  If  fhe  had  been  carelefs  in 
her  dairy,  he  would  have  ftormed  and  fworn ; 
but  as  fhe  only  ruined  one  child  by  indulgence, 
and  almoft  broke  the  hearts  of  the  reft  by  un- 


gg.  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

kindnefs,  he  gave  himfelf  little  concern  about  the 
matter.  The  cheefe,  certainly,  was  good,  and 
that  indeed  is  a  great  point ;  but  fhe  was  neglect¬ 
ful  of  her  children,  and  a  tyrant  to  her  fervants. 
Her  hufband’s  fubftance,  indeed,  was  not  wafted, 
but  his  happinefs  war  not  coniulted.  His  houfe, 
it  is  true,  was  not  dirty,  but  it  was  the  abode  of 
fury,  ill  temper,  and  covetoufnefs.  And  the 
farmer,  though  he  did  not  care  for  drink,  was 
too  often  driven  to  the  public  houfe-  in  an  even- 
inn:,  becaufe  his  own  was  neither  quiet  nor  com¬ 
fortable.  The  mother  was  always  fcolding,  and 
the  children  were  always  crying. 

Jack,  however,  notwithftanding  his  idlenefs, 
picked  up  a  little  reading  and  writing,  but  never 
would  learn  to  caft  an  account ;  that  was  too 
much  labour.  His  mother  was  defirous  he  fhould 
continue  at  fchool,  not  fo  much  for  the  fake  of 
his  learning,  which  fhe  had  not  fenfe  enough  to^ 
value,  but  to  fave  her  darling  from  the  fatigue  of 
labour  ;  for  if  he  had  not  gone  to  fchool,  fhe 
knew  he  muft  have  gone  to  work,  and  fhe 
thought  the  former  was  the  leafc  tirefome  or  the 
two.°  Indeed  this  foolifh  woman  had  fuch  an 
opinion  of  his  genius,  that  Ihe  ufed,  from  a  child, 
to  think  he  was  too  wife  for  any  thing  but  a  par- 
fon,  and  hoped  fhe  fhould  live  to  fee  him  one. 
She  did  not  wifh  to  fee  her  fon  a  minifter  becaufe 
fhe  loved  either  learning  or  goodnefs,  but  becaufe 
fhe  thought  it  would  make  Jack  a  gentleman,  and 
let  him  above  his  brothers. 

Farmer  Brown  ftill  hoped,  that  though  Jack 
was  likely  to  make  but  an  idle  and  ignorant 
farmer,,  yet  he  might  make  no  bad  tradesman, 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  39 

•when  he  fhould  be  removed  from  the  indulgences 
of  a  father’s  houfe,  and  from  a  filly  mother, 
whofe  fondnefs  kept  him  back  in  every  thing. 
This  woman  was  enraged  when  fhe  found  that 
fo  fine  a  fcholar,  as  fhe  took  Jack  to  be,  was  to 
be  put  apprentice  to  a  fhoemaker.  The  farmer, 
however,  for  the  firft  time  in  his  life,  would  have 
his  own  way.  But  being  a  worldly  man,  and  too 
apt  to  mind  only  what  is  falfely  called  the  main 
chance ;  inftead  "of  being  careful  to  look  out  for 
a  fober,  prudent,  and  religious  matter  for  his  fon, 
he  left  all  that  to  accident,  as  if  it  had  been  a 
thing  of  little  or  no  confequenee.  1  his  is  a  very 
common  fault ;  and  fathers  who  are  guilty  of  it, 
are  in  a  great  meafure  anfwerable  for  the  future 
fins  and  errors  of  their  children,  when  they  grow 
up  in  the  world,  and  fet  up  for  themfelves. 
If  a  man  gives  his  fon  a  good  education,  a  good 
example,  and  a  good  mailer,  it  is  mdeed  fojfible 
that  the  fon  may  not  turn  out  well,  but  it  does 
not  often  happen  ;  and  when  it  does,  the  father 
has  nc  blame  retting  on  him  ;  and  it  is  a  great 
point  towards  a  man’s  comfort  to  have  his  con- 
‘fcience  quiet  in  that  refpedl,  however  God  may 
think  fit  to  over-rule  events. 

The  farmer,  however,  took  care  to  defire  his 
friends  to  enquire  for  a  fhoemaker  who  had  good 
bufinefs,  and  was  a  good  workman ;  and  the  mo¬ 
ther  did  not  forget  to  put  in  her  word,  and  “  de- 
fired  that  it  might  be  one  who  was  not  tooftriff  ; 
for  Jack  had  been  brought  up  tenderly,  was  a 
meek  boy,  and  could  not  bear  to  be  contradicted 
in  any  thing,”  And  this  is  the  common  notion 


If  , ii 


40 


The  Two  Shoemakers . 


of  meeknefs  among  people  who  know  no  bet* 
ter. 

Mr.  Williams  was  recommended  to  the  farmer 
as  being-  the  beft  fhoemaker  in  the  town  in  which 
he  lived,  and  far  from  a  ftricl  matter ;  and, 
without  farther  enquiries,  to  Mr.  Williams  he 
went. 

James  Stock,  who  was  the  fon  of  an  honeft 
labourer  in  the  next  village,  was  bound  out  by 
the  par  ilk  in  confideration  of  his  father  having  fo 
numerous  a  family,  that  he  was  not  able  to  put 
him  out  himfelf.  James  was  in  every  thing  the 
very  reverie  of  his  new  companion.  He  was  a 
modeft,  induftrious,  pious  youth  5  and  though  fo 
poor,  and  the  child  of  a  labourer,  was  a  much 
better  fcholar  than  Jack,  who  was  a  wealthy  far¬ 
mer's  fon.  His  father  had,  it  is  true,  been  able 
to  give  him  but  very  little  lchooling,  for  he  was 
obliged  to  be  put  to  work  when  quite  a  child. 
When  very  young  he  ufed  to  run  of  errands  for 
Mr.  Thomas,  the  curate  of  the  parifh ;  a  very 
kind-hearted  young  gentleman,  who  boarded 
next  door  to  his  father’s  cottage.  He  ufed  alfo 
to  rub  down  and  faddle  his  horfe,  and  do  any 
other  little  job  for  him,  in  the  moft  civil,  obliging 
manner.  All  this  fo  recommended  him  to  the 
clergyman,  that  he  would  often  fend  for  him  in  of 
an  evening,  after  he  had  done  his  day’s  work  in 
the  field,  and  condefcended  to  teach  him  himfelf 
to  write  and  caft  accounts,  as  well  as  to  inftrud 
-him  in  the  principles  of  his  religion.  It  was  not 
merely  out  of  kindnefs  for  the  little  good-natured 
fervices  James  did  him,  that  he  fhewed  him  this 


The  Two  Shoemakers.  41 

favour,  but  alfo  for  his  rcadinefs  in  the  catechifm, 
and  his  devout  behaviour  at  church. 

The  firft  thing  that  drew  the  minifter’s  atten¬ 
tion  to  this  boy,  was  the  following  : — He  had 
frequently  given  him  halfpence  and  pence  for 
holding  his  horfe  and  carrying  him  to  water,  be¬ 
fore  he  was  big  enough  to  be  further  ufeful  to 
him.  On  Chriftmas-Day  he  was  furprifed  to  fee 
James  at  church,  reading  out  of  a  handfome  new 
prayer-book  ;  he  wondered  how  he  came  by  it, 
for  he. knew  there  was  nobody  in  the  parifh  likely 
to  have  given  it  to  him,  for  at  that  time  there  were 
no  Sunday  fchools ;  and  the  father  could  not  af¬ 
ford  it,  he  was  fure. 

Well  James,  faid  he,  as  he  faw  him  when  they 
came  out,  you  made  a  good  figure  at  church  to¬ 
day  ;  it  made  you  look  like  a  man  and  a  chriftian, 
not  only  to  have  fo  handfome  a  book,  but  to  be 
fo  ready  in  all  parts  of  the  fervice.  How  came 
you  by  that  book  ?  James  owned  modeftly,  that 
he  had  been  a  whole  year  having  up  the  money 
by  fingle  halfpence,  all  of  which  had  been  of  the 
minifter’s  own  giving,  and  that  in  all  that  time  he 
had  not  fpent  a  fingle  birthing  on.  his  own  diver- 
lions.  My  dear  boy,  faid  good  Mr.  Thomas,  I 
am  much  miftaken  if  thou  dofb  not  turn  out  well 
in  the  world,  for  two  reafori's  firft,  from  thy 
having  turn  and  (elf-denying  temper ;  and  next, 
becaufe  thou  didft  devote  the  iirft  eighteen- 
pence  thou  waft  ever  worth  in  the  world  to  fo 
good  a  purpofe. 

James  bowed  and  blufhed,  and  from  that  time 
Mr.  Thomas  began  to  take  more  notice  of  him. 


42  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

and  to  inftruft  him  as  I  laid  above.  As  James 
foon  grew  able  to  do  him  more  confiderable  fer- 
vice,  he  would  now  and  then  give  him  fixpence. 
This  he  conftantly  faved,  till  it  became  a  little 
fum  with  which  he  bought  fhoes  and  (lockings ; 
well  knowing  that  his  poor  father,  with  a  hard 
family  and  low  wages,  could  not  buy  them  for 
him.  As  to  what  little  money  he  earned  him- 
felf  by  his  daily  labour  in  the  field,  he  conftantly 
carried  it  to  his  mother  every  Saturday  night,  to 
buy  bread  for  the  family,  which  was  a  pretty  help 
to  them. 

As  James  was  not  cver-ftout  in  his  make,  his 
father  thankfully  accepted  the  offer  of  the  parifh 
officers  to  bind  out  his  fon  to  a  trade.  This 
good  man,  however,  had  not,  like  Farmer  Brown, 
the  liberty  of  choofing  a  mafter  for  his  fon,  or  he 
would  carefully  have  enquired  if  he  was  a  proper 
man  to  have  the  care  of  youth  ;  but  Williams 
the  fhoemaker  was  already  fixed  on,  by  thofe 
who  were  to  put  the  boy  out,  and  if  he  wanted  a 
mafter  it  muft  be  him  or  none  ;  for  the  overfeers 
had  a  better  opinion  of  Williams  than  he  deferved, 
and  thought  it  would  be  the  making  of  the  boy  to 
go  to  him.  The  father  knew  that  beggars  muft 
not  be  choofers,  fo  he  fitted  out  James  for  his 
new  place,  having  indeed  little  to  give  him  be- 
Tides  his  bleffing. 

The  worthy  Mr.  Thomas,  however,  kindly 
gave  him  an  old  coat  and  waiftcoat,  which  his 
mother,  who  was  a  neat  and  notable  woman, 
contrived  to  make  up  for  him  herfelf  without  a 
farthing  expence,  and  when  it  was  turned  and 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  '  43 

made  fit  for  his  fize,  it  made  him  a  very  hand- 
fome  full  for  Sundays,  and  iafited  him  a  couple 
of  years. 

And  here  let  me  flop  to  remark  what  a  pity  it 

is,  that  poor  women  fo  feldom  are  able  or  willing 
to  do  thefe  fort  of  little  handy  jobs  themfelves  ; 
and  that  they  do  not  oftener  bring  up  their  daugh¬ 
ters  to  be  more  ufeful  in  family  work.  They  are 
great  Infers  by  it  every  way  ;  not  only  as  they 
are  difquaiifying  their  girls  from  making  good 
wives  hereafter,  but  they  are  lofers  in  point  of 
prefent  advantage;  for  gentlefolks  could  much 
oftener  afford  to  give  a  poor  boy  a  jacket  or  a 
waificoat,  if  it  was  not  for  the  expence  of  making 

it,  which  adds  very  much  to  the  coft.  To  my 
certain  knowledge,  many  poor  women  would 
often  get  an  old  coat,  or  bit  of  coarfe  new  cloth 
given  them  to  fit  out  a  boy,  if  the  mothers  or 
lifters  were  known  to  be  able  to  cut  it  out  to 
advantage,  and  to  make  it  decently  themfelves. 
But  half-a-crown  for  the  making  a  bit  of  kerfey, 
which  cofts  but  a  few  fhillings,  is  more,  than 
many  very  charitable  gentry  can  afford  to  give— 
fo  they  often  give  nothing  at  all,  when  they  fee 
the  mothers  lo  little  able  to  turn  it  to  advantage. 
It  is  hoped  they  will  take  this  hint  kindly,  as  it 
is  meant  for  their  good. 

But  to  return  to  our  two  young  fhoemakers. 
They  were  both  now  fettled  at  Mr.  Williams’s, 
who,  as  he  was  known  to  be  a  good  workman, 
had  plenty  of  bufmefs.  He  had  fometimes  two 
or  three  journeymen,  but  no  apprentices  but  Jack 
and  James. 

Jack,  who,  with  all  his  faults,  was  a  keen* 


44  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

fmart  boy,  took  to  learn  the  trade  quick  enough* 
but  the  difficulty  was  to  make  him  flick  two 
hours  together  to  his  work.  At  every  noife  lie 
heard  in  the  ftreet,  down  went  the  work — the 
lafl  one  way,  the  upper  leather  another ;  the  foie 
dropped  on  the  ground,  and  the  thread  he  drag¬ 
ged  after  him,  all  the  way  up  the  flreet.  If  a 
blind  fiddler,  a  ballad  finger,  a  mountebank,  a 
dancing  bear,  or  a  drum,  were  heard  at  a  dis¬ 
tance- — out  ran  Jack — nothing  could  flop  him, 
and  not  a  flitch  more  could  he  be  prevailed  on 
to  do  that  day.  Every  duty,  every  promife  was 
forgot  for  the  prefent  pleafure — he  could  not 
refill  the  fm  a  lie  ft  temptation— he  never  flopped 
for  a  moment  to  confider  whether  a  thing  was 
right  or  wrong,  but  whether  he  liked  it  or  dis¬ 
liked  it.  And  as  his  ill-judging  mother  took 
care  to  fend  him  privately  a  good  fupply  of 
pocket-money,  that  deadly  bane  to  all  youthful 
virtue,  he  had  generally  a  few  pence  ready  tos 
fpend,  and  to  indulge  in  the  prefent  diverfion 
whatever  it  was.  And  what  was  flill  worfe  even 
than  fpending  his  money,  he  fpent  his  time  too, 
or  rather  his  mailer’s  time.  Of  this  he  was  con¬ 
tinually  reminded  by  James,  to  whom  he  always 
anfwered.  What  have  you  to  complain  about  ? 
It  is  nothing  to  you  or  any  one  elfe ;  I  fpend  no¬ 
body’s  money  but  my  own.  That  may  be,  re¬ 
plied  the  other,  but  you  cannot  fay  it  is  your 
own  time  that  you  fpend.  He  infilled  upon  it 
that  it  was ;  but  James  fetched  down  their  inden¬ 
tures,  and  there  fhewed  him  that  he  had  folemnly 
bound  himfelf  by  that  inftrument,  not  to  wafte 
his  mafter’s  property.  Now,  quoth  James,  thy 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  45 

own  time  is  a  very  valuable  part  cf  thy  mafters 
property .  To  this  he  replied.  Every  one's  time 
was  his  own,  and  he  fhould  not  fit  moping  all 
day  over  his  laft — for  his  part,  he  thanked  God, 
he  was  no  parijh  ' 'prentice . 

James  did  not  refent  this  piece  of  foolifh  im¬ 
pertinence,  as  fome  filly  lads  would  have  clone  ; 
nor  fly  out  into  a  violent  paflion  :  for  even  at 
this  early  age  he  had  begun  to  learn  of  him  who 
was  meek  and  lowly  of  heart  5  and  therefore  when 
he  was  reviled ,  he  reviled  not  again .  On  the  con¬ 
trary  he  was  fo  very  kind  and  gentle,  that  even 
Jack,  vain  and  idle  as  he  was,  could  not  help  lov¬ 
ing  him,  though  he  took  care  never  to  follow 
his  advice. 

Jack’s  fondnefs  for  his  boyiih  and  filly  diver- 
fions  in  the  ftreet,  foon  produced  the  effedts 
which  might  naturally  be  expected ;  and  the  fame 
idlenefs  which  led  him  to  fly  out  into  the  town  at 
the  found  of  a  fiddle,  or  the  fight  of  a  puppet- 
fhow,  foon  led  him  to  thofe  places  where  all  thefe 
fiddles  and  fhows  naturally  lead,  I  mean  the  ale¬ 
house.  The  acquaintance  picked  up  in  the  ftreet 
was  carried  on  at  the  Greyhound ;  and  the  idle 
paftimes  of  the  boy  foon  led  to  the  deftrudlive 
vices  of  the  man. 

As  he  was  not  an  ill-tempered  youth,  nor  na¬ 
turally  much  given  to  drink  \  a  fober  and  pru¬ 
dent  mafter,  who  had  been  fteady  in  his  manage- 
f  ment,  and  regular  in  his  own  conduct ;  who  had 
recommended  good  advice  by  a  good  example, 
might  have  made  fomething  of  Jack.  But  I  am 
forry  to  fay,  that  Mr.  Williams,  though  a  good 
workman,  and  not  a  very  hard  or  fevere  mafter. 


46 


The  Two  Shoemakers . 


a 


was  neither  a  fober  nor  a  fteady  man — fo  far  from 
it,  that  he  fpent  much  more  time  at  the  Grey¬ 
hound,  than  at  home.  There  was  no  order 
either  in  his  fhop  or  family.  He  left  the  chief  care 
of  the  bufinefs  to  his  two  young  apprentices  ; 
and  being  but  a  worldly  man,  he  was  at  firft  dif- 
pofed  to  {hew  favour  to  Jack  much  more  than 
to  James,  becaufe  he  had  more  money,  and  his 
father  was  better  in  the  world  than  the  father  of 
poor  James. 

At  firft,  therefore,  he  was  difpofed  to  confide r 
James  as  a  fort  of  drudge,  who  was  to  do  all 
the  menial  work  of  the  family,  and  he  did  not 
care  how  little  he  taught  him  of  his  trade.  With 
Mrs.  Williams  the  matter  was  ftill  worfe ;  {he 
coaftantly  called  him  away  from  the  bufinefs  of 
his  trade  to  walk  the  houfe,  nurfe  the  child, 
turn  the  fpit,  or  run  of  errands.  And  here  I 
muft  remark,  that  though  parifh  apprentices  are 
bound  in  duty  to  be  fubmiftive  to  both  mafter 
and  miftrefs,  and  always  to  make  themfelves  as 
ufeful  as  they  can  in  a  family,  and  to  be  civil  and 
humble  ;  yet  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  the  duty  of 
matters  always  to  remember,  that  if  they  are 
paid  for  inftructing  them  in  their  trade,  they 
ought  confcientioufty  to  inftrudl  them  in  it,  and 
not  to  employ  them  the  greater  part  of  their  time 
in  fuch  houfehold  or  other  drudgery,  as  to  de¬ 
prive  them  of  the  opportunity  of  acquiring  their 
trade. 

Mr.  Williams  foon  found  out  that  his  favou¬ 
rite  Jack  would  be  of  little  ufe  to  him  in  the  {hop; 
for  though  he  worked  well  enough,  he  did  not 
care  how  little  he  did.  Nor  could  he  be  of  the 


The  Two  Shoemakers,  47 

leaft  life  to  his  m after  in  keeping  an  account,  or 
writing  out  a  bill  upon  occafion,  for,  as  he  never 
could  be  made  to  learn  to  cypher,  he  did  not 
know  addition  from  multiplication. 

One  day  one  of  the  cuftomers  called  at  the 
fhop  in  a  great  hurry,  and  defired  his  bill  might 
be  made  out  that  minute ;  Mr.  Williams,  having 
taken  a  cup  too  much,  made  feveral  attempts  to 
put  down  a  clear  account,  but  the  mere  he  tried, 
the  lels  he  found  himfelf  able  to  do  it.  James, 
who  was  fitting  at  his  laft,  rofe  up,  and  with 
great  modefty,  afked  his  mafter  if  he  would  pleafe 
to  give  him  leave  to  make  out  the  bill,  faying, 
that  though  but  a  poor  fcholar,  he  would  do  his 
beft,  rather  than  keep  the  gentleman  waiting. 
Williams  gladly  accepted  his  offer,  and  confufed 
as  his  head  was  with  liquor,  he  yet  was  able  to 
obferve  with  what  neatnefs,  difpatch,  and  exacl- 
nefs  the  account  was  drawn  out.  From  that 
time  he  no  longer  confideied  Tames  as  a  drudp-e, 
but  as  one  fitted  for  the  higher  employments  of 
the  trade,  and  he  was  now  regularly  employed  to 
manage  the  accounts,  with  which  all  the  cufto- 
mers  were  fo  well  pleafed,  that  it  contributed 
greatly  to  raife  him  in  his  mafter’s  efteem  ;  for 
there  were  now  never  any  of  thofe  blunders  or 
falfe  charges,  for  which  the  fhop  had  before  been 
fo  famous. 

James  went  on  in  a  regular  courfe  of  induftry, 
and  loon  became  the  beft  workman  Mr.  Williams 
bad,  but  there  were  many  things  in  the  family 
which  he  greatly  difapproved.  Some  of  the 
journeymen  ufed  to  fwear,  drink,  and  fing  very 
licentious  fongs.  All  theie  things  were  a  great 


4 3  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

grief  to  his  fober  mind ;  he  complained  to  his 
mailer,  who  only  laughed  at  him ;  and  indeed,  as 
Williams  did  the  fame  himfelf,  he  put  it  out  of 
his  own  power  to  correct  his  fervants,  if  he  had 
been  fo  difpofed.  James,  however,  ufed  always 
to  reprove  them  with  great  mildnefs  indeed,  but 
with  great  feriou finds  alfo.  This,  but  dill  more 
his  own  excellent  example,  produced  at  length 
very  good  eftedts  on  fuch  of  the  men  as  were  not 
quite  hardened  in  fin. 

What  grieved  him  moil,  was  the  manner  in 
which  the  Sunday  was  fpent.  The  mailer  lay 
in  bed  all  the  morning,  nor  did  the  mother  or 
her  children  ever  go  to  church,  except  there  was 
fome  new  finery  to  be  fhewn,  or  a  chriftening  to 
be  attended.  The  town’s  people  were  coming 
to  the  fhop  all  the  morning,  for  work  which 
fihould  have  been  fent  home  the  night  before,  had 
not  the  mailer  been  at  the  ale-houfe.  And  what 
wounded  James  to  the  very  foul  was,  that  the 
mailer  expected  the  two  apprentices  to  carry 
home  fhoes  to  the  country  cuilomers  on  the  Sun*, 
dav  morning  j  which  he  wickedly  thought  was  a 
having  of  time,  as  it  prevented  their  hindering 
their  work  on  the  Saturday.  Thefe  fhameful 
practices  greatly  afflidted  poor  James ;  he  begged 
his  matter,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  to  excufe  him, 
but  he  only  laughed  at  his  fqueamiih  confidence, 
as  he  called  it. 

Jack  did  not  diilike  this  part  of  the  bufinefs, 
and  generally  after  he  had  delivered  his  parcel, 
waited  good  part  of  the  day  in  nutting,  playing 
at  fives,'  or  dropping  in  at  the  public-houfe :  any 
thing  was  better  than  going  to  church. 


/ 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  4,^ 

James,  on  the  other  hand,  when  he  was  com¬ 
pelled,  forely  againft  his  confcience,  to  carry 
home  any  goods  of  a  Sunday  morning,  always 
got  up  as  foon  as  it  was  light,  knelt  down,  and 
prayed  heartily  to  God  to  forgive  him  a  fin 
which  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  avoid ;  he  took 
care  not  to  lofe  a  moment  by  the  way,  but  as  he 
w^s  taking  his  walk  with  the  utmoft  fpeed,  to 
leave  his  fhoes  with  the  cuftomers,  he  {pent  his 
time  in  endeavouring  to  keep  up  good  thoughts 
in  his  mind,  and  praying  that  the  day  might 
come  when  his  confcience  might  be  delivered 
from  this  grievous  burthen.  He  was  now  par-, 
ticularly  thankful,  that  Mr.  Thomas  had  for¬ 
merly  taught  him  fo  many  pfalms  and  chapters, 
which  he  ufed  to  repeat  in  thefe  walks  with  great 
devotion. 

He  always  got  home  before  the  reft  of  the  fa¬ 
mily  was  up,  d  re  fled  himfelf  very  clean,  and 
went  twice  to  church ;  and  as  he  greatly  difliked 
the  company  and  practices  of  his  mailer’s  houfe, 
particularly  on  the  Sabbath-day,  he  preferred 
/pending  his  evening  alone,  reading  his  Bible, 
which  1  forgot  to  fay  the  worthy  clergyman  had 
given  him  when  he  left  his  native  village.  Sun¬ 
day  evening,  which  is  to  forne  people  fuch  a 
burthen,  was  to  James  the  higheft  holiday.  He 
had  formerly  learnt  a  little  how  to  fing  a  pfalm 
of  the  clerk  of  his  own  parifii,  and  this  was 
now  become  a  very  delightful  part  of  his  evening 
exercife.  And  as  Will  Simpfon,  one  of  the  jour¬ 
neymen,  .  by  James’s  advice  and  example,  was 
now  beginning  to  be  of  a  more  fcrious  way  of 
M'W  D 


5° 


The  Two  Shoemakers . 


thinking,  he  often  afked  him  to  fit  an  hour  with 
him,  when  they  read  the  Bible,  and  talked  it 
over  together  in  a  manner  very  pleafant  and  im¬ 
proving  ;  and  as  Will  was  a  famous  finger,  a 
pfalm  or  two  fung  together,  was  a  very  innocent 
pleafure. 

James’s  good  manners  and  civility  to  the  cuf- 
tomers  drew  much  bufinefs  to  the  (hop  ;  and  his 
fkill  as  a  workman  was  lo  great,  that  every  one 
defired  his  flioes  might  be  made  by  James. 
Williams  grew  fo  very  idle  and  negligent,  that 
he  now  totally  neglefted  his  affairs,  and  to  hard 
drinking  added  deep  gaming.  All  James’s  care, 
both  of  the  fhop  and  the  accounts,  could  not  keep 
things  in  any  tolerable  order;  he  reprefented  to 
his  mafter  that  they  were  growing  worfe  and 
worfe  ;  and  exhorted  him,  if  he  valued  his  credit 
as  a  tradefman,  his  comfort  as  a  hufband  and  fa¬ 
ther,  his  charatter  as  a  mafter,  and  his  foul  as  a 
chriftian,  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf.  Williams  fwore 
a  great  oath  that  he  would  not  be  reftrained  in  his 
pleafures  to  pleale  a  canting  parifh  ’prentice,  nor 
to  humour  a  parcel  of  fqualling  brats — that  let 
people  fay  what  they  would  of  him,  they  fhould 
jiever  fay  he  was  a  hypocrite,  and  as  long  as  they 
could  not  call  him  that,  he  did  not  care  what  elfe 
they  called  him. 

In  a  violent  paftion  he  immediately  went  to 
the  Greyhound,  where  he  now  fpent,  not  only 
every  evening,  which  he  had  long  done,  but 
good  part  of  the  day  and  night  alfo.  His  wife 
was  very  dreffy,  extravagant,  and  fond  of  com¬ 
pany,  and  fpent  at  home  as  faft  as  her  hufband  did 
abroad  fo  that  all  the  neighbours  laid,  if  it  had 


The  Tzvo  Shoemakers. 


5* 


not  been  for  James,  his  mafter  muft  have  broke 
long  ago,  but  they  were  fure  he  could  not  hold  it 
much  longer. 

o 

As  Jack  Brown  fung  a  good  fong,  and  played 
many  diverting  tricks,  Williams  liked  his  com- 
pany,  and  often  allowed  him  to  make  one  at  the 
Greyhound,  where  he  would  laugh  heartily  at  his 
!  ftories ;  fo  that  every  one  thought  Jack  was  much 
the  greater  favourite — fo  he  was  as  a  companion 
in  frolick,  and  foolery,  and  fleajure ,  as  it  is  called ; 
but  he  would  not  trull  him  with  an  inch  of  lea^ 
ther,  or  lixpence  in  money  :  No,  no— when  bu- 
finefs  was  to  be  done,  or  trull  was  to  be  repoled, 
James  was  the  man :  the  idle  and  the  drunken 
never  trull  one  another,  if  they  have  common  fenfc* 
They  like  to  laugh,  and  ling,  and  riot,  and  drink 
together :  but  when  they  want  a  friend,  a  coun¬ 
cilor,  a  help  in  bulinels  or  in  trouble,  they  go 
farther  a-field;  and  Williams,  while  he  would 
drink  with  Jack,  would  trull  James  with  untold 
gold  ;  and  even  was  foolilhly  tempted  to  negled 
his  bufmefs  the  more  from  knowing  that  he  had 
one  at  hom,e  who  was  taking  care  of  it. 

In  fpite  of  all  James's  care  and  diligence,  how¬ 
ever,  things  were  growing  worfe  and  worfe  :  the 
more  James  faved,  the  more  his  mailer  and  mil- 
:refs  fpent.  One  morning,  juft  as  the  Ihop  was 
opened,  and  James  had  let  every  body  to  their 
•efpedlive  work,  and  he  him felf  was  fettling  the 
>ulinefs  for  the  day,  he  found  that  his  mailer  was 
lot  yet  come  from  the  Greyhound.  As  this  was 
tow  become  a  common  cafe,  he  only  grieved,  but 
iid  not  wonder  at  it.  While  he  was  indulging  fad 

D  2 

tf,  3F  ILL.  U8, 


£2  s  Trie  Two  Shoemakers . 

thoughts  on  what  would  be  the  end  or  all  this, 
in  ran  the  tapfter  from  the  Greyhound  out  of 
breath,  and  with  a  look  of  terror  and  dilmay$ 
tfefired  James  would  ftep  over  to  the  publick- 
lioufe  with  him  that  moment,  for  that  his  maker 
wanted  him. 

James  went  immediately,  lurprifed  at  this  urn 
ufual  meffage.  When  he  got  into  the  kitchen 
of  the  public-houfe,  which  he  now  entered  for 
the  fir  ft  time  in  his  life,  though  it  was  juft  op- 
pofite  the  houfe  in  which  he  lived,  he  was 
Ihocked  at  the  beaftly,  difgufting  appearance  of 
every  thing  he  beheld.  There  was  a  table 
covered  with  tankards,  punch  bowls,  broken 
glades,  pipes,  and  dirty,  greafy  packs  of  cards, 
and  all  over  wet  with  liquor;  the  floor  was 
ftrewed  with  broken  earthen  cups,  odd  cards, 
and  an  EO  table  fhivered  to  pieces  in  a  quarrel ; 
behind  the  table  flood  a  crowd  of  dirty  fellows, 
with  matted  locks,  hollow  eyes,  and  faces  fmeared 
with  tobacco;  James  made  his  way  after  the 
tapfter,  through  this  wretched  looking  crew,  to 
a  fettle  which  flood  in  the-  chimney  corner.  Not 
a  word  was  uttered,  but  the  filent  horror  feemed 
to  denote  fomething  more  than  a  mere  common 
drunken  bout. 

What  was  the  difmay  of  James,  when  he  fa w 
his  miferable  maker  kretched  out  on  the  fettle, 
in  all  the  agonies  of  death  !  Ele  had  fallen  into 
a  fit,  after  having  drank  hard  bek  part  of  the 
night,  and  feemed  to  have  but  a  few  minutes  to 
live.  In  his  frightful  countenance  was  difplayed 
the  dreadful  picture  of  fin  and  death  ;  for  he 
flrucgled  at  once  under  the  guilt  of  intoxication. 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  53 

and  the  pangs  of  a  dying  man.  He  recovered 
his  fenfes  for  a  few  moments,  and  called  out  to 
afk  if  his  faithful  fervant  was  come  :  James  went 
up  to  him,  took  him  by  his  cold  hand,  but  was 
too  much  moved  to  fpeak.  Oh!  James,  James, 
cried  he  in  a  broken  voice,  pray  for  me,  comfort 
me.  James  fpoke  kindly  to  him,  but  was  too 
honek  ro  give  him  falfe  comfort,  as  is  too  often 
done  by  mikaken  friends  in  thefe  dreadful  mo¬ 
ments. 

James,  laid  he,  1  have  been  a  bad  maker  to* 
you— you  would  have  faved  my  foul  and  body, 
but  I  would  not  let  you — I  have  ruined  my  wife, 
my  children,  and  my  own  foul.  Take  warning, 
oh,  take  warning  by  my  miferable  end,  faid  he, 
to  his  flupified  companions ;  but  none  were  able 
to  attend  to  him  but  James,  who  bid  him  lift  up 
his  heart  to  God,  and  prayed  heartily  for  him 
himfelf.  Oh  !  faid  the  dying  man,  it  is  too  late, 
too  late  for  me — but  you  have  {till  time,  faid  he* 
to  the  half  drunken  terrified  crew  around  him.’ 
Where  is  Jack  ?  Jack  Brown  came  forward,  but 
was  too  much  frightened  to  fpeak.  O  wretched 
boy,  faid  he,  I  fear  I  fhall  have  the  ruin  of  thy 
foul,  as  well  as  my  own,  to  anfwer  for.  Stop 
fhort !-— Take  warning — now,  in  the  days  of  thy 
youth.  O  James,  James,  thou  doll  not  pray  for 
me.  Death  is  dreadful  to  the  wicked — O  the  king 
of  death  to  a  guilty  confidence  ! —Here  he  lifted 
up  his  ghakly  eyes  in  fpeechlefs  horror,  grafped 
hard  the  hand  of  James,  gave  a  deep  hollow 
groan,  and  clofed  his  eyes  never  to  open  them 
but  in  an  awful  eternity. 

D  3 


54  The  1  wo  Shoemakers . 

This  was  death  in  all  its  horrors  !  The  gay 
companions  of  his  finful  pleafures  could  not 
Hand  the  fight ;  all  flunk  away  like  guilty  thieves 
from  their  late  favourite  friend' — no  one  was  left 
to  afiift  him,  but  his  two  apprentices.  Brown 
was  not  fo  hardened  but  that  he  fhed  many  tears 
for  his  unhappy  mailer  ;  and  even  made  fomc 
haily  refolutions  of  amendment,  which  were  too 
foon  forgotten. 

While  Brown  ilepped  home  to  call  the  work¬ 
men  to  come  and  afiift  in  removing  their  poor 
mailer,  James  {laid  alone  with  the  corpfe,  and 
employed  thofe  awful  moments  in  indulging  the 
moil  ferious  thoughts,  and  praying  heartily  to 
God,  that  fo  terrible  a  lefTon  might  not  be 
thrown  away  upon  him ;  bur  that  he  might  be 
enabled  to  live  in  a  conilant  ilate  of  preparation 
for  death.  The  refolutions  he  made  at  this  mo¬ 
ment,  as  they  were  not  made  in  his  own  flrength, 
but  in  an  humble  reliance  on  God’s  gracious  help, 
were  of  ufe  to  him  as  long  as  he  lived  5  and  if 
ever  he  was  for  a  moment  tempted  to  fay,  or  do 
a  wrong  thing,  the  remembrance  of  his  poor  dy¬ 
ing  mailer’s  lail  agonies,  and  the  dreadful  words 
he  uttered,  always  inilantly  checked  him. 

When  Williams  was  buried,  and  his  affairs 
came  to  be  inquired  into,  they  were  found  to  be 
in  a  fad  condition.  His  wife,  indeed,  was  the 
lefs  to  be  pitied,  as  ihe  had  contributed  her  full 
fhare  to  the  common  ruin.  James,  however,  did 
pity  her,  and  by  his  fkill  in  accounts,  his  known 
honeily,  and  the  trufl  the  creditors  put  in  his  word, 
things  came  to  be  fettled  rather  better  than  Mrs* 
Williams  expelled* 


The  Two  Shoemakers,  55 

Both  Brown  and  James  were  now  within  a 
month  or  two  of  being  out  of  their  time.  The 
creditors,  as  was  faid  before,  employed  James 
to  fettle  his  late  mailer’s  accounts,  which  he  did 
in  a  manner  fo  creditable  to  his  abilities,  and  his 
honelly,  that  they  propofed  to  him  to  take  the 
fhop  himfelf.  He  allured  them  it  was  utterly 
out  of  his  power  for  want  of  money.  As  the 
creditors  had  not  the  leaf:  fear  of  being  repaid,  if 
it  lhould  pleafe  God  to  fpare  his  life,  they  gene- 
roufly  agreed  among  themfelves,  to  advance  him 
a  fmall  fum  of  money  without  any  fecurity  but 
his  bond  -}  for  this  he  was  to  pay  a  very  reafon- 
able  interell,  and  to  return  the  whole  in  a  given 
number  of  years.  James  fhed  tears  of  gratitude 
at  this  teftimony  to  his  character,  and  could 
hardly  be  prevailed  on  to  accept  their  kindnefs, 
fo  great  was  his  dread  of  being  in  debt. 

He  took  the  remainder  of  the  leafe  from  his 
miltrefs,  and  in  fettling  affairs  with  her,  took 
care  to  make  every  thing  as  advantageous  to  her 
as  polfible.  He  never  once  allowed  himfelf  to 
think  how  unkind  fie  had  been  to  him,  he  only 
faw  in  her  the  needy  widow  of  his  deceafed  maf- 
ter,  and  the  diflrelfed  mother  of  an  infant  family  ; 
and  was  heartily  forry  it  was  not  in  his  power  to 
contribute  to  their  fupport ;  it  was  not  only  his 
duty,  but  his  delight  to  return  good  for  evil — for 
he  was  a  Christian. 

James  Stock  was  now,  by  the  blelfing  of  God 
on  his  own  earned:  endeavours,  mailer  of  a  con- 
fiderable  fhop,  and  was  refpedled  by  the  wdiole 
town  for  his  prudence,  honelly,  and  piety.  How 

D  4 


i 


•56 


The  Two  Shoemakers. 


he  behaved  in  his  new  ftation,  and  alfo  what  be- 
fel  his  comrade  Brown,  muft  be  the  fubjecft  of 
another  book ;  and  I  hope  my  readers  will  look 
forward  with  fome  impatience  for  home  further 
account  of  this  worthy  young  man.  In  the  mean 
time,  other  apprentices  will  do  well  to  follow  fo 
praife-worthy  an  example,  and  to  remember, 
that  the  reipecdable  m after  of  a  large  fhop,  and  a 
profitable  bufinefs,  was  railed  to  that  creditable 
fituation,  without  money,  friends,  or  connections, 
from  the  low  beginning  of  a  parifh  prentice , 
by  fobriety,  induftry,  the  fear  of  God ,  and  an 
obedience  to  the  divine  principles-  of  the  Chris¬ 
tian-  religion. 


PART  II. 


THE  APPRENTICE  TURNED  MASTER. 


If 


1  HE  firft  part  of  this  Hiftory  left  off  with 
the  dreadful  fudden  death  of  Williams  the  idle 
Shoemaker,  who  died  in  a  drunken  fit  at  the 
Greyhound.  It  alfo  fhewed  how  James  Stock, 
his  faithful  apprentice,  by  his  honeft  and  upright 
behaviour,  fo  gained  the  love  and  refpecft  of  his 
late  mailer’s  creditors,  that  they  fet  him  up  in 
bufinefs,  though  he  was  not  worth  a  (hilling  of 
his  own,  fuch  is  the  power  of  a  good  character  ! 
And  when  we  laft  parted  from  him  he  had  juft 
got  po fit: [ft on  of  his  .mafter’s  fhop. 

This  ludden  profperity  v/as  a  time  of  trial  for 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  57 

James ;  who,  as  he  was  now  become  a  creditable  • 
trade fman,  I  fhall  hereafter  think  proper  to  call 
Mr.  James  Stock.  I  fa y,  this  fudden  rife  in  life 
was  a  time  of  trial ;  for  we  hardly  know  what  we 
are  ourfelves  till  we  become  our  own  mailers. 
There  is  indeed  always  a  reafonable  hope  that  a  . 
good  fervant  will  not  make  a  bad  mailer,  and 
that  a  faithful  apprentice  will  prove  an  honed: 
tradefman.  But  the  heart  of  man  is  deceitful, 
and  fome  folks  who  feem  to  behave  very  well 
while  they  are  under  fubjedtion,  no  fooner  get  a 
little  power  than  their  heads  are  turned,  and  they 
grow  prouder  than  thole  who  are  gentlemen ' 
born.  They  forget  at  once  that  they  were  lately 
poor  and  dependent  themfelves,  fo  that  one 
would  think  that  with  their  poverty  they  had  loir 
their  memory  too.  I  have  known  fome  who  had 
fullered  moll  hardships  in  their  early  days,  be¬ 
come  the  moil  hard  and  oppreffive  in  their  turn ; 
fo  that  they  feem  to  forget  that  fine  confiderate 
reafon  which  God  gives  to  the  children  of  Ifraei 
why  they  fhould  be  merciful  *  to  their  fervants, 
cc  remem  bring,”  faith  he,  cc  that  thou  thyfelf. 
wad  a  bondman.” 

Young  Mr.  Stock  did  not  fo  forget  himfelf. 
He  had  indeed  the  only  fure  guard  from  falling 
into  this  error.  It  was  not  from  any  eafinefs  in 
his  natural  difpolition :  for  that  only  juft  ferves 
to  make  folks  good  natured  when  they  are 
pleafed,  and  patient  when  they  have  nothing  to 
vex  them.  James  went  upon  higher  ground. 
He  brought  his  religion  into  all  his  actions  j.  lie 
did  not  give  way  to  abulive  language,  becaufe 

D  5  , 


/ 


5§  The  Two  Shoemakers. 

he  knew  it  was  a  fin.  He  did  not  ufe  his  ap¬ 
prentices  ill*  becaufe  he  knew  he  had  himfelf  a 
Matter  in  heaven. 

He  knew  he  owed  his  prefent  happy  fituation 
to  the  kindnefs  of  the  creditors.  But  did  he 
grow  eafy  and  carelefs  becaufe  he  knew  he  had 
luch  friends  ?  No  indeed.  He  worked  with  dou¬ 
ble  diligence  in  order  to  get  out  of  debt,  and 
to  let  thefe  friends  fee  he  did  not  abule  their  kind¬ 
nefs.  Such  behaviour  as  this  is  the  greateft  en¬ 
couragement  in  the  world  to  rich  people  to 
lend  a  little  money.  It  creates  friends,  and  it 
keeps  them. 

His  fhoes  and  boots  were  made  in  the  beft 
manner this  got  him  buttnefs  ;  he  fet  out  with 
a  rule  to  tell  no  lies  and  deceive  no  cuttomers ; 
this  Juured  his  buttnefs.  He  had  two  reafons. 
for  not  promittng  to  fend  home  goods  when  he 
knew  he  fhould  not  be  able  to  keep  his  word. 
The  firtt,  becaufe  he  knew  a  lie  was  a  ttn,  the 
next,  becaufe  it  was  a  folly.  There  is  no  credit 
fooner  worn  out  than  that  which  is  got  by  falfe 
pretences.  After  a  little  while  no.  one  is  deceived 
by  them.  Falfehood  is  fo  foon  found  out  that  I 
believe  moft.  tradefmen  are  the  poorer  for  it  in  the 
long  run.  Deceit  is  the.  worft  part  of  a.  ihop- 
keeper’s  ttock  in.  trade.. 

James  was  now  at  the  head  of  a.  family.  This 
is  a  ferrous  fituation,  (faid  he  to  himfelf,  one  fine 
hummer's  evening,  as  he  flood  leaning  over  the 
half  door  of  his  fnop  to  enjoy  a  little  fretti  air) 
X  am  now  matter  of  a  family...  My  cares  are 
doubled,  and  fo  are  my  duties.  I  lee  the  higher 
one  gets  in  fife  the  mo*e  one  has  to  anfwer  for. 


The  Two  Shoemakers.  ST 

Let  me  now  call  to  mind  the  forrow  I  ufed  to  feel 
when  I  was  made  to  carry  work  home  on  a  Sunday 
by  an  ungodly  mailer ;  and  let  me  now  keep  the 

refolutions  I  then  formed. 

So  what  his  heart  found  right  to  do  he  refolved 
to  do  quickly ;  and  he  fet  out  at  fir  ft  as  he  meant 
to  go  on.  The  Sunday  was  truly  a  day  of  reft  at 
Mr.  Stock’s.  He  would  not  allow  a  pair  of  ftioes 
to  be  given  out  on  that  day  to  oblige  the  be  ft 
cuftomer  he  had.  And  what  did  he  lole  by  it  ? 
Why  nothing.  For  when  the  people  were  once 
ufed  to  it,  they  liked  Saturday  night  juPc  as  welL 
But  had  it  been  otherwife  he  would  have  givers* 
aip  his  gains  to  his  confcience. 

Shewing  how  Mr.  Stock  behaved  to  his  Apprentices v 

When  he  got  up  in  the  world* fo  far  as  to  have 
apprentices,  he  thought  himfelf  as  accountable 
for  their  behaviour  as  if  they  had  been  his  chil¬ 
dren.  He  was  very  kind  to  them,  and  had  a 
chearful  merry  way  of  talking  to  them,, 
the  lads  who  had  feen  too  much  of  fwearing^  re¬ 
probate  mailers,  were  very  fond  of  him.  They 
were  never  afraid-  of  fpeaking  to  him,  they  told 
him  all  their  little  troubles,,  and  confidered  their 
m after  as.  their  bell  friend,  for  they  faid  they 
would  do  any  thing  for  a  good  word  and:  a  kind 
look.  As  he  did  not  fwear  at  them  when  they 
had  been  guilty  of  a  fault,  they  did  not  lie  to  him- 
to  conceal  it,  and  thereby  make  one  fault,  two. 
But  though  he  was  very  kind,  he  was  very  watch* 
£ul  alfo,  for  he  did  not  think  negledt  any  part  of 

D  ^ 


6  o 


The  Two  Shoemakers. 

kiirdnefs.  He  brought  them  to  one  very  pretty 
method,  which  was,  on  a  Sunday  evening  to  di¬ 
vert  themfelves  with  writing  out  half  a  dozen 
texts  of  Scripture  in  a  pretty  copybook  with  gilt 
covers.  You  may  have  the  fame  at  any  of  the 
Stationers ;  they  do  not  colt  above  four  pence, 
and  will  lafl  nearly  a  year. 

When  the  boys  carried  him  their  books,  he 
juftly  commended  him  whofe  texts  were  written 
in  the  fairefl  hand.  And  now  my  boys,  faid  he. 
Jet  us  fee  which  of  you  will  learn  your  texts  belt 
in  the  courfe  of  the  week;  he  who  does  fhall 
chufe  for  next  Sunday.  Thus  the  boys  foon  got 
many  pfalms  and  chapters  by  heart,  almoft  with¬ 
out  knowing  how  they  came  by  them.  He 
taught  them  how  to  make  a  pradlical  ufe  of  what 
they  learnt ;  for,  faid  he,  it  will  anfwer  little  pur- 
pofe  to  learn  texts,  if  we  do  not  try  to  live  up 
to*  them.  One  of  the  boys  being  apt  to  play  in 
iho  abience,  and  to  run  back  again  to  his  work  ’ 
when  he  heard  his  master’s  Hep,  he  brought  him 
to  a  fenfe  or  his  fault  by  the  lafl  Sunday’s  text, 
which  happened  to  be  the  6th  of  Ephefians.  Fie 
fhewcd  him  what  was  meant  by  being  obedient 
to  his  mailer  in  finglenefs  of  heart  as  unto  Chrift, 
and  explained  to  him  with  fo  much  kindnefs 
wnat  it  was,  not  to  worie  with  eye-fervice  as  men- 
pleafers,  but  doing  the  will  of  God  from  the 
heart,  that  the  lad  faid  he  fhould  never  forget  it, 
and  it  did  more  towards  curing  him  of  icTlenefs 
than  the  fo  undell  horfe- whipping  would  have 
done. 


The  Two  Shoemakers. 


6 1 


How  Mr.  Stock  got  out  of  Debt . 

Stock’s  behaviour  was  very  regular,  and  he 
was  much  beloved  for  his  kind  and  peaceable 
temper.  He  had  alfo  a  good  reputation  for  fkill 
in  his  trade,  and  his  induftry  was  talked  of 
through  the  whole  town,  fo  that  he  had  foon 
more  work  than  he  could  poffibly  do.  He 
paid  all  his  dealers  to  the  very  day,  and  took 
care  to  carry  his  intereft  money  to  the  creditors 
the  moment  it  became  due.  In  two  or  three 
years  he  was  able  to  begin  to  pay  off  a  fmall 
part  of  the  principal.  His  reafon  for  being  fo 
eager  to  pay  money  as  foon  as  it  became  due  was 
this  : — Fie  had  obferved  tradefmen,  and  efpe- 
cially  his  old  mafter,  put  off  the  day  of  pay¬ 
ment  as  long  as  they  could,  even  though  they 
had  the  means  in  their  power.  This  deceived 
them  :  for  having  money  in  their  pockets  they 
forgot  it  belonged  to  the  creditor,  and  not  to 
themfelves,  and  fo  got  to  fancy  they  were  rich 
when  they  were  really  poor.  This  falfe  notion 
led  them  to  indulge  in  idle  expences,  whereas, 
if  they  had  paid  regularly,  they  would  have  had 
this  one  temptation  the  lefs.  A  young  tradefman, 
when  he  is  going  to  fpend  money,  fhould  at  lead; 
afk  himfelf  whether  this  money  is  his  own  or  his 
creditors’.  This  little  queftion  might  help  to 
prevent  many  a  bankruptcy. 

A  true  Christian  always  goes  heartily  to  work 
to  find  out  what  is  his  befetting  fm  ;  and  when 
he  has  found  it,  (which  he  eafily  may  if  he  looks 
fharp)  againfl  this  fin  he  watches  narrowly.  Nov/ 

£  ' 


/ 


6  2  ‘  The  Two  Shoemakers, 

I  know  it  is  the  fafhion  among  Tome  folks 
(and  a  bad  fafhion  it  is)  to  fancy  that  good  peo¬ 
ple  have  no  fin ;  but  this  only  (hews  their  igno¬ 
rance.  It  is  not  true.  That  good  man  St* 
Paul  knew  better  *.  And  when  men  do  not  own 
their  fins,  it  is  not  becaufe  there  is  no  fin  in  their 
hearts,  but  becaufe  they  are  not  anxious  to 
fearch  for  it,  nor  humble  to  confefs  it*  nor  peni¬ 
tent  to  mourn  over  it.  But  this  was  not  the 
cafe  with  James  Stock.  Examine  yourfelves- 
truly,  faid  he,  is  no  bad  part  of  the  catechifm. 
He  began  to  be  afraid  that  his  defire  of  living 
creditably,  and  without  being  a  burthen  to  any 
one,  might,  under  the  mafk  of  honefty  and  in¬ 
dependence,  lead  him  into  pride  and  covetouf- 
nefs.  He  feared  that  the  bias  of  his  heart  lay 
that  way.  So  inftead  of  being  proud  of  his  fo- 
briety  5  inflead  of  bragging  that,  he  never  lpent 
his  money  idly,  nor  went  to  the  ale-houfe;  in- 
ftead  of  boafling  how  hard  he  worked,  and  how 
he  denied  himfelf,  he  drove  in  fecret  that  evert 
thefe  good  qualities  might  not  grow  out  of  a. 
wrong  root.  The  following  event  was  of  ufe  to 
him  in  the  way  of  indulging  any  difpofition  to 
eovetoufnefs : 

One  evening  as  he  was  flanding  at  the  door  of 
his  fhop,  a  poor  dirty  boy  without  ftockings  and 
ihoes  came  up  and  aiked  him  for  a.  bit  of  broken 
vidluals,  for  he  had  eaten  nothing  all  day.  In 
fpite  of  his  dirt  and  rags  he  was  a  very  pretty, 
lively,  civil  fpoken  boy,  and  Mr.  Stock  could 
not  help  thinking  he  knew  fomething  of  his  face*. 


*  See  Romans  vii 


V. 


The  Tz&o  Shoemakers .  6j 

Fie  fetched  him  out  a  good  piece  of  bread  and 
cheefe,  and  while  the  boy  was  devouring  it,  afk- 
ed  him  if  he  had  no  parents,  and  why  he  went 
about  in  that  vagabond  manner  ?  Daddy  has 
been  dead  fome  years,  faid  the  boy,  he  died  in 
a  fit  over  at  the  Grey-hound.  Mammy  fays  he 
ufed  to  live  at  this  fhop,  and  then  we  did  not 
want  for  cloaths  nor  vi&uals  neither.  Stock  was. 
melted  almoft  to  tears  on  finding  that  this  dirty 
beggar-boy  was  Tommy  Williams,  the  fon  of 
his  old  matter.  He  blefled  God  on  compar¬ 
ing  his  own  happy  condition  with  that  of  this  poor 
deftitute  child,  but  he  was  not  proud  at  the  com- 
parifon,  and  while  he  was  thankful  for  his  own 
profperity,  he  pitied  the  helplefs  boy. — Where 
have  you  been  living  of  late  ?  faid  he  to  him,  for 
I. underhand  you  all  went  home  to  your  mother’s 
friends.  NSo  we  did,  Sir,  faid  the  boy,  but  they 
are  grown  tired  of  maintaining  us,,  becaule  they 
laid  that  Mammy  Ipent  all  the  money  which 
fhould  have  gone  to  buy  victuals  for  us,  on  finufF 
and  drams.  And  fo  they  have  fent  us  back  to 
this  place,  which  is  Daddy*s  parifh. 

And  where  do  you  live  here  ?  faid  Mr.  Stock* 
O  Sir,  we  are  all  put  into  the  parifh  poor-houfe 
— And  does  your  mother  do  any  thing  to  help  to 
maintain  you  f  No,  Sir,  for  Mammy  fays  fhe 
was  not  brought  up  to  work  like  poor  folks,, 
and  fhe  would  rather  ttarve  than  fpin  or  knit 
lb  (lie  lies  a-  bed  all  the  morning,  and  fends  us, 
about  to  pick  up  what  we  can,  a  bit  of  victuals 
or  a  few  halfpence.  And  have  you  any  money 
in  your  pocket  now  ?  Yes,  Sir,  I  have  got  three 
halfpence  which  I  have  begged  to-day*  Then* 


G\  The  Two  Shoemaker's. 

as  you  were  fo  very  hungry,  how  came  you  not 
to  buy  a  role  at  that  baker’s  over  the  way  ?  Be- 
caufe,  Sir,  I  was  going  to  lay  it  out  in  tea  for 
Mammy,  for  I  never  lay  out  a  farthing  for  my- 
felf,.  Indeed  Mammy  fays  fhe  will  have  her 
tea  twice  a-dav  if  we  beg  or  flarve  for  it.  Can 
you  read,  ray  boy  ?  faid  Mr.  Stock :  a  little,  Sir, 
and  fay  my  prayers  too.  And  can  you  fay  your 
catechifm  ?  i  have  almoft  forgot  it  all,  Sir, 
though  I  remember  about  honouring  .my  father 
and  mother,  and  that  makes  me  Hill  carry  the 
halfpence  home  to  Mammy  inftead  of  buying 
cakes.  Who  taught  you  thefe  good  things  ? 
One  Jemmy  Stock,  Sir,  who  was  a  parifh  ’pren¬ 
tice  to  my  Daddy.  He  taught  me  one  queftion 
out  "of  the  catechifm  every  night,  and  always 
made  me  fay  my  prayers  to  him  before  I  went  to 
bed.  He  told  me  I  fhould  go  to  the  wicked  place 
if  I  did  not  fear  God,  fo  1  am  dill  afraid  to  tell 
lies  like  the  other  boys.  Poor  Jemmy  gave  me 
a  piece  of  gingerbread  every  time  I  learnt  well ; 
but  I  have  no  friend  now;  Jemmy  was  very 
good  to  me,  though  Mammy  did  nothing  but  beat 
him. 

Mr.  Stock  was  too  much  moved  to  carry  on 
the  difeourfe  ;  he  did  not  make  himfelf  known  to 
tde  boy,  but  took  him  over  to  the  baker’s  (hop; 
as  they  walked  along  he  could  not  help  repeating 
aloud  a  verfe  or  two  of  that  beautiful  hymn,  io 
defervedly  the  favourite  of  all  children  : 

ff  Not  more  than  others  I  deferve, 

“  Yet  God  hath  given  me  more ; 

“  For  I  have  food  while  others  ftarve, 

“  Or  beg  from  door  to  door,” 


'  The  Two  Shoemakers. 


6  5 

The  little  boy  looked  up  in  his  face,  faying. 
Why,  Sir,  that’s  the  very  hymn  which  jemmy 
Stock  gave  me  a  penny  for  learning.  Stock 
made  no  anfwer,  but  put  a  couple  of  three-penny 
loaves  into  his  hand  to  carry  home,  and  told  him 
to  call  on  him  again  at  fuch  a  time  in  the  follow¬ 
ing  week. 

How  Mr.  Stock  continued  to-  he  charitable  without 

any  Expence. 

Stock  had  abundant  fubjedt  for  meditation 
that  night.  He  was  puzzled  what  to  do  with 
the  boy.  While  he  was  carrying  on  his  trade 
upon  borrowed  money,  he  did  not  think  it  right 
to  give  any  part  of  that  money  to  affifl  the  idle, 
or  even  to  help  the  diftreffcd.  I  muil  be  juft, 
faid  he,  before  I  am  generous.  Still  he  could 
not  bear  to  fee  this  fine  boy  given  up  to  certain 
ruin.  Pie  did  not  think  it  fafe  to  take  him  into 
his  fhop,  in  his  prefent  ignorant  unprincipled 
flate.  At  laff  he  hit  upon  this  thought:  I  work 
for  myfelf  twelve  hours  in  the  day.  Why  fhall  I 
not  work  one  hour  or  two  for  this  boy  in  the  even¬ 
ing  ?  It  will  be  but  for  a  year,  and  I  fhall  then 
have  more  right  to  do  what  I  pleafe.  My  mo¬ 
ney  will  then  be  my  own,  I  fhall  have  paid  my 
debts. 

So  he  began  to  put  his  refolution  in  pradlice 
that  very  night,  flicking  to  his  old  notion  of  not 
putting  off  till  to-morrow  what  iliould  be  done 
to-day ;  and  it  was  thought  he  owed  much 
of  his  fuccefs  in  life,  as  well  as'  his  growth  in 
goodnefs,  to  this  little  faying.  I  am  young  and 
healthy,  faid  he,  one  hour’s  work  more  will  do 


I 


66  The  Two  Shoemakers : 

me  no  harm  ;  I  will  fet  afide  all  I  get  by  thefe 
over- hours,  and  put  the  boy  to  fchool.  I  have 
not  only  no  right  to  punifh  this  child  for  the 
fins  of  his  father,  but  I  confider  that  though  God 
hated  thofe  fins,  he  has  made  them  be  inflruments 
for  my  advancement. 

Tommy  Williams  called  at  the  time  appointed. 
In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Stock’s  maid  had  made 
him  a  tidy  little  fuit  of  cloaths  out  of  an  old 
coat  of  her  mailer’s.  She  had  alfo  knit  him 
a  pair  of  dockings,  and  Mr.  Stock  made  him 
fit  down  in  the  (hop,  while  he  himfelf  fitted  him 
with  a  pair  of  new  fhoes.  The  maid  having 
walked  and  dreifed  him,  Mr.  Stock  took  him  by 
the  hand  and  walked  along  with  him  to  the  pa¬ 
rish  poor-houfe  to  find  his  mother.  They  found 
her  dreffed  in  ragged  filthy  finery,  (landing  at  the 
door,  where  ike  palled  mod  of  her  time,  quar¬ 
relling  with  half  a  dozen  women  as  idle  and  dirty 
as  herfelf;  when  fke  faw  Tommy  fo  neat  and 
well-dreffed,  fke  fell  a-crying  for  joy.  She  faid 
it  put  her  in  mind  of  old  times,  for  Tommy 
always  ufed  to  be  dreffed  like  a  gentleman.  So 
much  the  worfe,  faid  Mr.  Stock  ;  if  you  had  not 
begun  by  making  him  look  like  a  gentleman,  you 
needed  not  have  ended  by  making  him  look  like 
a  beggar.  Oh  Jem,  laid  fire,  (for  though  it  was 
four  years  fince  fke  had  feen  him,  Ike  foon  re- 
colle&ed  him)  fine  times  for  you  1  fet  a  beggar 
on  horfcback — you  know  the  proverb.  I  fkall 
beat  Tommy  well  for  finding  you  out,  and  ex¬ 
po  fing  me  to  you. 

Inflead  of  entering  into  any  difpute  with  this 
bad  woman,  or  prailing  himfeif  at  her  expence  ; 


j 


The  Two  Shoemakers. 

or  putting  her  in  mind  of  her  paid  ill-behaviour 
to  him,  or  reproaching  her  with  the  bad  ufe  Ihe 
had  made  of  her  profperity,  he  mildly  faid  to 
her, — Mrs.  Williams,  I  am  forry  for  your  mil- 
fortunes  ;  I  am  come  to  relieve  you  of  pare 
of  your  burthen.  I  will  take  Tommy  off*  your 
hands.  I  will  give  him  a  year’s  board  and 
fchooling,  and  by  that  time  I  fhall  fee  what  he 
is  fit  for.  I  will  promife  nothing,  but  it  the  boy 
turns  out  well  I  will  never  forfake  him.  I  fhall 
make  but  one  bargain  with  you,  which  is,  that  he 
mu  ft  not  come  to  this  place  to  hear  all  this  rail¬ 
ing  and  fwearing,  nor  fhall  he  keep  company  with 
thefe  pilfering,  idle  children.  You  are  welcome  to 
go  and  fee  him  when  you  pleafe,  but  here  he 
muft  not  come. 

The  foolifh  woman  burft  out  a-crying,  faying> 
Ihe  fhould  lofe  her  poor  dear  Tommy  for  ever. 
Mr.  Stock  might  give  her  the  money  he  in¬ 
tended  to  pay  at  the  fchool,  for  nobody  could 
do  fo  well  by  him  as  his  own  mother.  The  truth 
was,  Ihe  wanted  to  get  thefe  new  cloaths  into  her 
clutches,  which  would  all  have  been  pawned  at 
the  dram-fhop  before  the  week  was  out.  This 
Mr.  Stock  well  knew.  From  crying  fhe  fell  to 
fcolding  and  fwearing.  She  told  him  he  was  an 
unnatural  wretch,  that  wanted  to  make  a  child  de- 
fpife  his  own  mother  becaufe  Ihe  was  poor.  She 
even  went  fo  far  as  to  fay  Ihe  would  not  part  from 
him  ;  Hie  faid  fhe  hated  your  godly  people,  they 
had  no  bowels  of  compaftion,  but  tried  to  fet 
men,  women,  and  children  againft  their  own  flelh 
and  blood. 

Mr.  Stock  now  almoft  loft  his  patience,  and 


63 


The  Two , Shoemakers . 

for  one  moment  a  thought  came  acrofs  him  to 
ftrip  the  boy,  carry  back  the  cloaths,  and  leave 
him  to  his  unnatural  mother.  Why,  faid  he, 
fhould  I  work  over-hours,  and  wear  out  my 
ftrength  for  this  wicked  woman  ?  But  he  foon 
checked  this  thought,  by  receding  on  the  pa^ 
tience  and  long-fufferirig  of  God  with  rebellious 
iinners.  This  cured  his  anger  in  a  moment,  and 
he  mildly  reafoned  with  her  on  her  folly  and 
blindnefs  in  oppofing  the  good  of  her  child. 

One  of  the  neighbours  who  ftood  by,  faid, 
what  a  fine  thing  it  was  for  the  boy,  but  fome 
people  were  born  to  be  lugty  !  She  wifhed  Mr. 
Stock  would  take  a  fancyTo  her  child,  he  fhould 
have  him  foon  enough.  Mrs.  Williams  now  be¬ 
gan  to  be  frightened  left  Mr.  Stock  fhould  take 
the  woman  at  her  word,  and  fullenly  confented 
to  let  the  boy  go,  from  envy  and. malice,  not 
from  prudence  and  gratitude  ;  and  Tommy  was 
fent  to  fchoo!  that  very  nighty  his  mother  crying 
and  roaring,  inftead  of  thanking  God  for  ftich  a 
Hefting. 

And  here  I  cannot  forbear  telling  a  very 
good-natured  thing  of  Will  Simpfon,  one  of  the 
workmen.  By-the-bye  it  was  that  very  young 
fellow  who  was  reformed  by  Stock's  good  exam¬ 
ple  when  he  was  an  apprentice,  and  who  ufed  to 
fmg  pi  alms  with  him  on  a  Sunday  evening  when 
they  got  out  of  the  way  of  Williams’s  junketing. 
Will  coming  home  early  one  evening,  was  fur- 
prifed  to  find  his  maker  at  work  by  himfelf, 
long  after  the  ufual  time.  He  begged  fo  heartily 
to  know  the  reafon,  that  Stock  owned  the  truth. 
Will  was  fo  ftruck  with  this  piece  of  kindnefs. 


The  Two  Shoemakers.  69 

that  he  (hatched  up  a  lad,  crying  out,  Well,  maf- 
ter,  you  dial  1  not  work  by  yourfelf  however  ;  we 
will  go  fnacks  in  maintaining  Tommy  :  it  dial! 
never  be  faid  that  Will  Simplon  was  idling  about, 
when  his  mailer  was  working  for  charity.  This 
made  the  hour  pafs  cheerfully,  and  doubled  the 
profits. 

*  In  a  year  or  two  Mr.  Stock,  by  God’s  bleding 
on  his  labours,  became  quite  clear  of  the  world! 
He  now  paid  off  his  creditors  5  but  he  never  for¬ 
got  his  obligation  to  them,  and  found  many  op¬ 
portunities  of  diewing  kindnefs  to  them,  and  to 
their  children  after  them.  He  now  call  about 
for  a  proper  wife,  and  as  he  was  thought  a  proi- 
perous  man,  and  very  well  looking  beddes,  mod; 
ot  the  ffnart  girls  of  the  place,  with  their  tawdry 
finery,  ufed  to  be  often  parading  before  the  diop, 
and  would  even  go  to  church  in  order  to  put 
themfelves  in  his  way.  But  Mr.  Stock  when  he 
went  to  church  had  other  things  in  his  head,  and 
if  ever  he  thought  about  thefe  gay  damfels  at  all, 
it  was  with  concern  in  feeing  them  io  improperly 
tricked  out,  fo  that  the  very  means  they  took  to 
pleafe  him,  made  him  didike  them. 

1  here  was  one  Betfy  Well,  a  young  woman 
of  excellent  chara&er  and  very  modell  appear¬ 
ance.  He  had  feldom  feen  her  out,  as  die  was 
employed  night  and  day  in  waiting  on  an  aged 
widowed  mother  who  was  both  lame  and  blind. 
This  good  girl  was  indeed  almoff  truly  eyes  and 
feet  to  her  helplefs  parent,  and  Mr.  Stock  ufed 
to  lee  her,  th rough  the  little  cafement  window, 
lifting  her  up,  and  feeding  her  with  a  tendernefs 
which  greatly  raifed  his  efteem  for  her.  He  ufed 


*j0  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

to  tell  Will  Simpfon,  as  they  fat  at  work,  that 
fuch  a  dutiful  daughter  could  hardly  fail  to  make 
a  faithful  wife.  He  had  not,  however,  the  heart 
to  try  to  draw  her  off  from  her  care  of  her  fick 
mother.  The  poor  woman  declined  very  faff. 
Betfy  was  much  employed  in  reading  or  pray  ing 
by  her  when  fhe  was  awake,  and  paffed  good 
part  of  the  night  while  hie  hcyt,  in  doing  fome 
fine  works  to  fell  in  order  to  fupply.her  fick  mo¬ 
ther  with  little  niceties  which  their  poor  pit¬ 
tance  could  not  afford,  while  fhe  herfelf  lived  on 

a  cruft. 

Mr.  Stock  knew  that  Betfy  would  have  little 
op  nothing  after  her  mother  s  death,  ns  fhe  had 
only  a  life  income.  On  the  other  hand  Mr. 
Thompfon,  the  tanner,  had  offered  him  two  hun¬ 
dred  pounds  with  his  daughter  Nancy  .  but  he 
was  aimoft  forry  that  he  had  not  in  this  cafe  an 
opportunity  of  refilling  his  natural  bias,  which 
rather  lay  on  the  fide  of  loving  money  :  For, 
faid  he,'  putting  principle  and  putting  affedlion 
out  of  the  queition,  I  fhall  do  a  more  prudent 
thing  by  marrying  Betfy  Weft,  who  will  conform 
to  her  ftatton,  anti  is  a  religious,  humble,  induf- 
trious  girl,  without  a  Drilling,  than  by  having  an 
idle,  dreffy  lafs,  who  will  negleft  my  family  and 
fill  my  houfe  with  company,  though  fire  Ihould 
have  twice  the  fortune  which  Nancy  Thompfon 

would  bring.  ,  .  , 

At  length  poor  old  Mrs.  Weft  was  releafed 

from  ail  her  fufferings.  At  a  proper  time  Mr. 
Stock  propofed  marriage  to  Betfy,  and  was  ac¬ 
cepted,  All  the  difappointed  girls  in  the  town 
wondered  what  any  body  could  like  in  fuch 

9 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  7  r 

-dowdy  as  that.  Had  the  man  no  eyes  ?  They 
thought  Mr.  Stock  had  had  more  take.  Oh  ! 
how  it  did  provoke  all  the  vain,  idle  things-  to 
find,  that  flaying  at  home,  d  re  fling  plainly,- Serv¬ 
ing  God,  aud  nurfing  a  blind  Mother,  ihoiild 
do  that  for  Betly  Weft,  which  all  their  contri¬ 
vances,  flaunting,  and  dancing,  could  not  do  for 
them. 

He  was  not  difappointed  of  meeting-  with  a 
good  wife  in  Betfy,  as  indeed  thole  who  marry 
on  right  grounds  leldom  are.  But  if  religious 
perfons  will,  for  the  fake  of  money,  chufe  part¬ 
ners  for  life  who  have  no  religion,  do  not  let  them 
complain  that  they  are  unhappy ;  they  might  have 
known  that  beforehand. 

Tommy  Williams  was  now  taken  home  to 
Stock’s  houfe  and  bound  apprentice.  He  was 
always  kind  and  attentive  to  his  mother;  and 
every  penny  which  Will  Simplon  or  his  maker 
gave  him  for  learning  a  chapter,  he  would  fave  to 
buy  a  bit  of  tea  and  fugar  for  her.  When  the 
other  boys  laughed  at  him  for  being  fo  foolifh  as 
to  deny  himfelf  cakes  and  apples,  to  give  his 
money  to  her  who  was  fo  bad  a  woman,  he  would 
anfwcr,  It  may  be  fo,  but  fhe  is  my  mother  for  all 
that. 

Mr.  Stock  was  much  moved  at  the  change  in 
this  boy,  who  turned  out  a  very  good  youth. 
He  refolved,  as  God  fhould  profper  him,  that  he 
would  try  to  fnatch  other  helplefs  creatures  from 
fm  and  ruin.  For,  faid  he,  it  is  owing  to  God’s 
bleffing  on  the  inftruftions  of  my  good  m inkier 
when  1  was  a  child,  that  I  have  been  faved  from 
the  broad  way  of  deftru&ion.  He  kill  gave  God 


7 2  The  Two  Shoemakers. 

the  glory  of  every  thing  he  did  aright,  and  when 
Will  Simpfon  one  day  faid  to  him,  Mafter,  I  wifli 
I  were  half  as  good  as  you  are': — Hold  William, 
anfwered  he  gravely,  I  once  read  in  a  book,  that 
the  Devil  is  willing  enough  we  fhould  appear 
to  do  good  adions,  if  he  can  but  make  us  proud 
of  them. 

But  we  mull  not  forget  our  other  old  acquaint¬ 
ance,  Mr.  Stock’s  fellow-prentice.  So  next 
month  you  may  exped  a  full  account  of  the  many 
tricks  and  frolicks  of  idle  Jack  Brown,  being 
the  third  part  of  the  Hiftory  of  the  Two  Shoe¬ 
makers. 

Z. 


PART  III. 

You  have  not,  I  hope,  forgotten  your  old  ac¬ 
quaintance  idle  Jack  Brown,  the  fellow-appren¬ 
tice  of  James  Stock,  i  gave  a  little  account  of 
him  and  his  wild  tricks  in  the  firft  part  of  this 
hiftory,  from  which  I  dare  lay  you  exped  to  hear 
no  great  good  of  him.  The  fecond  part  (hewed 
how  James  Stock,  from  a  pa-rifh  apprentice,  be¬ 
came  a  top  Shoemaker.  You  fhall  now  hear 
what  befel  idle  Jack,  who,  being  a  farmer's 
fon,  had  many  advantages  to  begin  life  with. 
But  he  who  wants  prudence  may  be  faid  to  want 
every  thing,  becaufe  he  turns  all  his  advantages 
to  no  account. 

Jack  Brown  was  juft  out  of  his  time  when  his 
itiaftef  Williams  died  in  that  terrible  drunken 
lit  at  the  Greyhound.  You  know  already  how 


The  Two  Shoemakers t  yj 

Stock  fucceeded  to  his  matter's  bufinefs,  and 
profpered  in  it.  Jack  wifhed  very  much  to  enter 
into  partnerfhip  with  him.  His  father  and  mo¬ 
ther  too  were  defirous  of  it,  and  offered  to  ad¬ 
vance  a  hundred  pounds  with  him.  Here  is  a 
frefh  proof  of  the  power  of  a  good  character  l 
d  he  old  farmer,  with  all  his  covetoufnefs,  was 
eager  to  get  his  fon  into  partnerfhip  with  Stock, 
though  the  latter  was  not  worth  a  fhilling,  and 
even  Jack’s  mother,  with  all  her  pride,  was  eap-er 
for  it,  for  they  had  both  fenfe  enough  to  fee 
it  would  be  the  making  of  Jack.  The  father 
knew  that  Stock  would  look  to  the  main  chance; 
and  the  mother  that  he  would  take  the  labour¬ 
ing  oar,  and  fo  her  darling  would  have  little 
to  do. 

Stock,  however,  young  as  he  was,  was  too 
old  a  bird  to  be  caught  with  chaff.  His  wifdorn 
was  an  overmatch  for  their  cunning.  He  had  a 
kindnefs  for  Brown,  but  would  on  no  account 
enter  into  bufinefs  with  him.  One  of  thefe  three 
things,  faid  he,  I  am  fure  will  happen  if  I  do  ; 
lie  will  either  hurt  my  principles,  my  character, 
or  my  trade;  perhaps,  all.  And  here,  by  the- 
bye,  let  me  drop  a  hint  to  other  young  men 
who  are  about  to  enter  into  partnerfhip  I  et 
them  not  do  that  in  hafte  which  they  may  re¬ 
pent  at  leisure.  Next  to  marriage  it  is  a  tie  the- 
haradt  to  break  ;  and  next  to  that  it  is  an  en¬ 
gagement  which  ought  to  be  entered  into  with 
the  molt  caution.  Many  things  go  to  the  mak- 
lng  fuch  a  connection  (ratable.  Me,  and  pleafant. 
there  is  many  a  rich  man  need  not  be  above 

E 


74  The  Two  Shoemakers. 

taking  a  hint  in  this  refped  from  James  Stock 
the  Shoemaker. 

Brown  was  ftill  unwilling  to  part  from  him, ' 
indeed  he  was  too,  idle  to  look  out  for  bufinefs, 
fo  he  offered  Stock  to  work  with  him  as  a 
journeyman;  but  this  he  alfo  mildly  refufed.  It 
hurt  his  good-nature  to  do  fo ;  but  he  reflected 
that  a  young  man  who  has  his  way  to  make  in  the 
world  mu  ft  not  only  be  good-natured,  he  muft 
be  prudent  alfo.  I  am  refolved,  faid  jie,  to  em¬ 
ploy  none  but  the  moft  fober,  regular  young  men 
I  can  get.  Evil  communications  corrupt  good 
manners,  and  I  fhould  be  anfwe table  for  all  the 
diforders  of  my  own  houfe  if  I  knowingly  took 
a  wild  drinking  young  fellow  into  it.  That 
which  might  be  kindnefs  to  one,  would  be  in- 
juftice  to  many,  and  therefore  a  fin  in  myfelf. 

Brown’s  mother  was  in  great  rage  when  fhe 
heard  that  her  ion  had  ftooped  fo  low  as  to  make 
this  offer.  She  thought  pride  was  a  grand  thing. 
Toor  woman  1  fhe  did  not  know  that  it  is  the 
meaneft  thing  in  the  world.  It  was  her  ignoiance 
which  made  her  proud,  as  is  apt  to  be  tne  cafe. 
<c  You  mean  fpirited  rafeal,”  faid  fhe  to  Jack,  cf  I 
had  rather  follow  you  to  your  grave,  as  well  as  I 
love  you,  than  fee  you  difgrace  your  family  by 
working  under  Jem  Stock,  the  parifh  appientice. 
She  forgot  already  what  pains  fhe  had  taken  about 
the  partnership,  but  pride  and  paftion  have  a  bad 

memory.  . 

It  is  hard  to  fay  which  was  now  uppermolt  in 

her  mind,  her  defire  to  be  revenged  on  Stock,  or 
to  lee.  her  fon  make  a  figure.  She  raifed  every 
bulling  fhe  could  get  from  her  hufbard,  and  all 


The  Two  Shoemakers.  .-  ye 

fiie  could  crib  from  the  dairy  to  fet  up  Jack  in  a 
ihowy  way.  So  the  very  next  market  day  (he 
came  herfelf,  and  took  for  him  the  new  white 
houfe,  with  the, two  littie  falh  windows  painted 
bme,  and  blue  ports  before  the  door.  It  is  that 
houle  which  has  the  Old  Crofs  juft  before 'it'  „ 
you  -turn  down  between  the  Church  and  'the 
Greyhound.  It’s  being  fo  near  the  Church  to  be 
lure  was  no  recommendation  fo  Tack,  but  it’s 
being  fo  near  the  Greyhound  was,  and  fo  taking 
one  thing  with  the  other  it  was  to  be  fure  no  bad 
lituation  but  what  weighed  nioft  with  the  mo- 
ther  was,  that  it  was  a  much  more  Ihowy  Ihon 
than  Stock’s,  and  the  houfe,  though  not  half  fo 
convenient,  was  far  more  fmart. 

^Tn  order  to  draw  cuftom,  his  foolifh  mother 
idvifed  him  to  underfeil  his  neighbours  juft  ac 
irft;  to  buy  ordinary  but  fhowy  goods,  and  em¬ 
ploy  cheap  workmen.  In  Ihort,  lhe  charged  him 
o  leave  no  ftone  unturned  to  ruin  his  old  com* 

!*•  ti?  - r  dndeed  fte  always  thought  with 
loubie  fatisfaftion  of  Jack’s  profperity,  becaufe 

he  always  joined  to  it  the  hope  that  his  fuccefs 

rou  d  be  the  ruin  of  Stock,  for  lhe  owned  it 

rould  be  the  joy  of  her  heart  to  bring  that  proud 

pftart  to  a  morfel  of  bread.  She  did  not  under- 

■and,  for  her  part,  why  fuch  beggars  muft  be- 

pme  trade fmen,  it  was  making  a  velvet  purfc 
r  a  low’s  ear. 

.Stock  however  fet  out  on  quite  another  fet  of 
rinciples.  (  He  did  not  allow  himfelf  always  to 
[uare  his  own  behaviour  to  others  by  theirs  to 
[rrh  feldom  alked  himlelf  what  lie  Ihould 

E  2 


The  Two  'Shoemakers . 

/  *  # 

Uke  to  clo  ;  but  he  had  a  mighty  way  of  faying, 

I  wonder  now  what  is  my  duty  to  do?  And 
when  he  was  once  clear  in  that  matter  he  gene¬ 
rally  did  it,  always  begging  God’s  bleffing  and 
direction.  So  inftead  of  letting  Brown  at  de¬ 
fiance  ;  inftead  of  all  that  vulgar  felfilhnefs,  of 
catch  he  that  catch  can — and  two,  of  a  trade  can 
never  agree — he  refolved  to  be  fnendiy  towaids 
him.  Inftead  of  joining  in  the  laugh  againft 
Brown  for  making  his  houfe  fo  fine,  he  was  lorry 
for  him,  becaufe  he  feared  he  would  never  be 
able  to  pay  fuch  a  rent.  So  he  very  kindly  called 
upon  him,  told  him  there  was  buftnefs  enough  for 
them  both,  and  gave  him  many  ufeful  hints  for 
his  going  on.  He  warned  him  to  go  oftener  to. 
church  and  feldomer  to  the  Greyhound  :  put  him 
in  mind  how  following  the  one  and  forfaking  the 
other  had  been  the  ruin  of  their  poor  mafter,  and 
added  the  following 

Advice  to  young  Tradesmen. 

Buy  the  belt  goods ;  cut  the  work  out  your- 
felf  •  jet  the  eye  of  the  mafter  be  every  where  ; 
employ  the  fobereft  men  ,  avoid  ah  the  low  de¬ 
ceits  of  trade  ,  never  lower  the  credit  of  another 
to  raife  your  own ;  make  fhort  payments ;  keep 
exadt  accounts  r  avoid  idle  company  j  and  be  veiy 

ftricl  to  your  word.  ;  .  ■ 

For  a  fhort  time  things  went  on  fwimmingly. 
Brown  was  merry  and  civil.  'I  he  fhop  was  well 
fituated  for  go  flip ;  and  every  one  who  had  fome- 
thiiv^  to  fay,  and  nothing  to  do,  was  welcome. 
F  Jry  idle  ftory  was  firft  fpread,  and  every  idle 
Fong  firft  furig  in  Brown’s  fhop.  Every  cuf- 


.  The  Two  Shoemakers.  '  77 

tcmer  who  came  to  be  meafured  was  promifed 
that  his  fhoes  fhould  be  done  firft.  But  the  mif- 
fortune  was,  if  twenty  came  in  a  day  the  fame 
promife  was  made  to  all ;  lb  that  nineteen  were 
difappointed  and  of  courfe  affronted.  He  never 
faid  No  to  any  one.  It  is  indeed  a  word  which 
it  requires  fome  honefty  to  pronounce.  By  all 
thefe  falfe  promifes  he  was  thought  the  moff 
obliging  fellow  that  ever  made  a  ffioe.  And  as 
he  fet  out  on  the  principle  of  underfelling,  people 
took  a  mighty  fancy  to  the  Cheap  Shop.  And 
it  was  agreed  among  all  the  young  and  giddy, 
that  he  would  beat  Stock  hollow,  and  that  the 
old  Hiop  would  be  foon  knocked  up,. 

All  is  not  gold  that  gllftens 

After  a  few  months,  however,  folks  began  to 
be  not  quite  fo  fond  of  the  Cheap  Shop;  one 
found  out  that  the  leather  was  bad,  another  that 
the  work  was  flight.  Thofe  who  liked  fubftan- 
tial  goods  went  all  of  them  to  Stock’s,  for  they 
faid  Brown’s  heel  taps  did  not  lad  a  week ;  his 
new  boots  let  in  water;  and  they  believed  he 
made  his  foies  of  brown  paper.  Belides  it  was 
thought  by  moff,  that  his  promifing  all,  and 
keeping  his  word  with  none,  hurt  his  bufinefs  as 
much  as  any  thing.  Indeed  I  queflion,  putting, 
religion  out  of  the  queftion,  if  lying  ever  anfwers 
in  the  long  run. 

Brown  had  what  is  commonly  called  a  good 
heart ;  that  is,  he  had  a  thoughtlefs  good  nature* 
and  a  fort  of  feeling;  for  the  moment  which  made 
him  feem  lorry  -when  others  were  in  trouble. 

E  3  A  A 


I 


I 


7$  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

But  he  was  not  apt  to  put  himfelf  to  any  incon¬ 
venience,  nor  go  a  ftep  out  of  his  way,  nor  give 
up  any  pleafure  to  ferve  the  befh  friend  he  had. 
He  loved  fm ;  and  thofe  who  do  fhould  always 
fee  that  it  he  harmkfs,  and  that  they  do  not  give 
up  more  for  it  than  it  is  worth.  I  am  not  going 
to  fay  a  word  againft  innocent  merriment.  I  like 
at  myfelf.  But  what  the  Proverb  fays  of  gold, 
may  be  faid  of  mirth,  it  may  be  bought  too 
dear.  If  a  young  man  finds  that  what  he  fancies 
is  a  good  joke  may  poflibly  offend  God,  hurt 
his  neighbour,  afflid  his  parent,  or  make  a  mo- 
deft  girl  blufh,  let  him  then  be  allured  it  is 
not  fun  but  wickednefs.,  and  he  had  better  let  it 
alone. 

Jack  Brown  then,  as  good  a  heart  as  he  had, 
did  not  know  what  it  was  to  deny  himfelf  any 
thing.  He  was  fo  good-natured  indeed  that  he 
never  in  his  life  refufed  to  make  one  of  a  jolly  fet ; 
but  he  was  not  good-natured  enough  to  confider 
that  thofe  men  whom  he  kept  up  all  night  roaring 
and  laughing,  had  wives  and  children  at  home, 
who  had  little  to  eat,  and  Ids  to  wear,  becaufe 
they  were  keeping  up  the  character  of  merry  feU 
lows  at  the  public  houfe. 

The  Mountebank . 

One  day  he  faw  his  father’s  plough-boy  come 
gallop'ing  up  to  his  do6r  in  great  hafte.  This 
boy  brought  Brown  word  that  his  mother  was  dan-  ' 
geroufly  ill,  and  that  his  father  had  fent  his  own 
beft  bay  mare  Smiler,  that  his  fon  might  lofe  no 
time,  but  fet  out  dire&ly  to  fee  his  mother  be¬ 
fore  Hie  died.  Jack  burft  into  tears,  lamented 


The  Two  Shoemakers *  79 

the  danger  of  fo  fond  a  mother,  .and  all  the  people 
in  the  fhop  extolled  his  good  heart . 

He  fent  back  the  boy  dircdtly,  with  a  meffage 
that  he  would  follow  him  in  half  an  hour,  as  foon 
as  the  mare  had  baited  ;  for  he  well  knew  that  his 
father  would  not  thank  him  for  any  hafte  he  might- 
make  if  Smiler  was  hurt. 

Jack  accordingly  let  off,  and  rode  with  fuch 
fpeed  to  the  next  town,  that  both  himfelf  and 
Smiler  had  a  mind  to  another  bait.  They  ftop- 
*ped  at  the  Star,  unluckily  it  was  Fair-day,  and 
as  he  was  walking  about  while  Smiler  was  eating 
.  her  oats,  a  bill  was  put  into  his  hand  letting  forth, 
that  on  a  ftage  oppofite  the  Globe  a  Mountebank 
was  fhowing  away,  and  his  Andrew  performing 
the  fine  ft  tricks  that  ever  were  feen.  He  read— 
he  flood  ftill — -he  went  on — It  will  not  hinder  me, 
fays  he ;  Smiler  mufl  reft ;  and  I  fhall  fee  my 
poor  dear  mother  quite  as  foon  if  I  juft  take  a 
peep,  as  if  I  fit  moping  at  the  Star. 

The  tricks  were  fo  merry  that  the  time  feemed 
fnort,  and  when  they  were  over  he  could  not  for  ¬ 
bear  going  into  the  Globe  and  treating  thefe 
choice  fpirits  with  a  bowl  of  punch.  Juft  as 
they  were  taking  the  laft  glafs  Jack  happened  to 
fay  that  he  was  the  bell  fives-player  in  the 
country.  That  is  lucky,  faid  the  Andrew,  for 
tliere  is  a  famous  match  now  playing  in  the 
court,  and  you  may  newer  again  have  fuch  an 
opportunity  to  fhow  your  fkill.  Brown  declared 
he  could ‘not  flay,  for  that  he  had  left  his  horfe  at 
the  Star,  and  mull  fet  off  on  urgent  bufmefs. 
They  now  all  pretended  to  call  his  fkill  in  q.uef- 


So  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

tion.  This  roufed  his  pride,  and  he  thought 
another  half  hour  could  break  no  Squares. 
Smiler  had  now  had  a  good  feed  of  corn,  and  he 
would  only  have  to  pufh  her  on  a  little  more ;  fo 
to  it  he  went.  ' 

He  won  the  firft  game.  This  fpurred  him  on  ; 
and  he  played  till  it  was  fo  dark  they  could 
not  lee  a  ball.  Another  bowl  was  called  for  from 
the  winner.  Wagers  and  betts  now  drained 
Brown  not  only  of  all  the  money  he  had  won,  but 
of  all  he  had  in  his  pocket,  fo  that  he  was  obliged 
to  a  fit  leave  to  go  to  the  houfe  where  his  horfe 
was,  to  borrow  enough  to  difcharge  his  reckoning 
at  the  Globe. 

All  thefe  lodes  brought  his  poor  dear  mother 
to  his  mind,  and  he  marched  off  with  rather  a 
heavy  heart  to  borrow  the  money,  and  to  order 
Smiler  out  of  the  {fable.  The  landlord  exprelTed 
much  furprife  at  feeing  him,  and  the  odder  de¬ 
clared  there  was  no  Smiler  there ;  that  he  had 
been  rode  off  above  two  hours  ago  by  the  Merry 
Andrew,  who  faid  he  canle  by  order  of  the  owner, 
Mr.  Brown,  to  fetch  him  to  the  Globe,  and  to 
pay  for  his  feed.  It  was  indeed  one  of  the  neatefl 
tricks  the  Andrew  ever  performed,  for  he  made 
fuch  a  clean  conveyance  of  Smiler,  that  neither 
Jack  nor  his  father  ever  heard  of  her  again. 

It  was  night :  no  one  could  tell  what  road  the 
Andrew  took,  and  it  was  another  hour  or  two 
before  an  advertifement  could  be  drawn  up*'  for 
apprehending  the  horfe-ltealer.  Jack  had  fome 
doubts  whether  he  fhould  go  on  or  return  back. 
Fie  knew  that  though  his  father  might  fear  his 
wife  mod,  yet  he  loved  Smiler  bed.  At  length 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  S-i 

he  took  that  courage  from  a  glafs  of  brandy*  which* 
he  ought  to  have  taken  from  a  hearty  repentance* 
and  h^  refolved  to  puriue  his  journey.  He  was 
obliged  to  leave  his  watch  and  filver  buckles  in 
pawn  lor  a  little  old  hack  which  was  nothing  but. 
fkin  and  bone,  and  would  hardly  trot  three  miles- 
an  hour. 

He  knocked  at  his  father’s  door  about  five  irr 
the  morning.  The  family  were  ail  up..  He 
afked  the  boy  who  opened  the  door  how  his  mou¬ 
ther  was  ?  She  is  dead,  laid  the  boy.  Hie-  died, 
yelferday  afternoon.  Here  Jack’s  heart  fmote 
Him,  and  he  cried  aloud,  partly  from  grief,  but 
more  from  the  reproaches  of  his  own  confcience* 
for  he  found  by  computing  the  hours,  that  had 
he  come  flrait  on,  he  fhould  have  been,  in,  time 
to  receive  his  mother’s  bleffing. 

The  Farmer  now  called  from  within*  I  hear 
Smiler’s  Hep.  Is  Jack  come?  Yes  father,  faid 
Jack,  in  a  low  voice.  Then,  cried  the  Farmer* 
run  every  man  and  boy  of  you  and  take  care  of 
the  mare.  Tom,  do  thou  go  and  rub  her  down  5 
Jem,  run  and  get  her  a  good  feed  of  corn.  Be 
lure  walk  her  about  that  Ike  may  not  catch,  cold.. 
Young  Brown  came  im,  Are  you  not  am  undu- 
tiful  dog?  faid  the  father;  you  might  have  been 
kfre  twelve  hours  ago.  Your  mother  could  not 
die  in  peace  without  feeing  you;.  She  laid  it  was 
a  cruel  return  for  all  her  fondnefs^  that  you*  could, 
not  make  a  little  hafte  to  fee  her ;  but  it  was  al¬ 
ways  lo,  for  Hie  had  wronged  her  other  children" 
to  help  you,  and  this  was  her  reward..  Brown 
fobbed  out  a  few  words,  but  his  father-  re  plied* 


Zi  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

Never  cry  Jack,  for  the  boy  told  me  that  it  was 
out  of  regard  for  Smiler  that  you  were  not  here 
as  foon  as  he  was ;  and  if  ’twas  your  over  care 
of  her,  why  there’s  no  great  harm  done.  You 
could  not  have  laved  your  poor  mother,  and 
you  might  have  hurt  the  mare.  Here  Jack’s 
double  guilt  flew  into  his  face.  He  knew  that 
his  father  was  very  covetous,  and  had  lived  on 
bad  terms  with  his  wife  ;  and  alfo  that  nis  own 
unkindnefs  to  her  had  been  forgiven  by  him  out 
of  love  to  the  horfe  ;  but  to  break  to  him  how  he 
had  loft  that  horfe  through  his  own  folly  and  want 
of  feeling,  was  more  than  Jack  had  courage  to  do. 
The  old  man,  however,  foon  got  at  the  truth,  . 
and  no  words  can  deferibe  his  fury.  Forgetting 
that  hi,s  wife  lay  dead  above  ftairs,  he  abuled  his 
Ion  in  a  way  not  fit  to  be  repeated  ;  and  though 
his  covetoufnels  had  juft  before  found  an  excufe 
for  a  favourite  ion  neglecting  to  vifu  a  dying 
parent,  yet  he  now  vented  his  rage  againft  Jack 
as  an  unnatural  brute,  whom  he  would  cut  oxF 
with  a  {hilling,  and  bade  him  never  fee  his  face 

again.  *■  '  ?  1  ,1 

Jack  was  not  allowed  to  attend  his  mother's- 

funeral,  which  was  a  real  grief  to  him  ;  nor  would 
his  father  advance  even  the  little  money  which  was 
needful  to  redeem  his  things  at  the  Star.  He  had 
now  no  fond  mother  to  alfift  him,  and  he  let  out 
on  his  return  home  on  his  borrowed  hack,  full 
of  grief.  He  had  the  added  mortification  of 
knowing,  that  he  had  alfo  loft  by  his  folly  a  little 
hoard  of  money  which  his  mother  had  faved  up 
,for  him. 

When  Brown  got  back  to  his  own  town  he 


The  Two  Shoemakers.  8  r 

found  that  the  (lory  of  Smilcr  and  the  A  d:  w 
had  got  thither  before  him,  and  it  was  thought  a 
very  good  joke  at  the  Greyhound.  He  foon  re¬ 
covered  his  fpirits  as  far  as  related  to  the  horfe,. 
but  as  to  his  behaviour  to  his  dying  m  ther  it 
troubled  him  at  times  to  the  laft  day  of  his  life,, 
though  he  did  all  he  could  to  forget  if.  He  did 
not  however  go  on  at  all  better,  nor  did  he  en¬ 
gage  in  one  frolick  the  iefs  for  what  had  palled  at 
the  Globe;  his  good  heart  continually  betraying 
him  into  acts  of  levity  and  vanity. 

Jack  began  at  length  to  feel  the  reverfe  of 
that  proverb.  Keep  your  fhop  and  your  (hop 
will  keep  you.  '  He  had  neglected  his  cuftomers,.. 
and  they  forfook  him.  Quarter-day  came  round  5, 
there  was  much  to  pay  and  little  to  receive.  He 
owed  two  years  rent.  Fie  was  in  arrears  to  his 
men  for  wages.  He  had  a  long  account  with; 
his  Currier.  It  was  in  vain  to  apply  to  his  fa¬ 
ther.  Fie  had  now  no  mother.  Stock  was  the 
only  true  friend  he  had  in  the:  world,  and  had 
helped  him  out  of  many  petty  fcrapes;  but  he 
knew  Stock  would  advance  no  money  in  fa 
hopelefs  a  cafe.  Duns  came  fad:  about  him/. 
He  named  a  fpeedy  day  for  payment,  but  as. 
foon  as  they  were  out  of  the  houfe,  and  the  dan-* 
ger  put  off  to  a  little  diftance,  he  forgot  every 
promife,  was  as  merry  as  ever,  and  run  the  fame' 
round  of  tho'ughtlefa  gaiety.  Whenever  he  was; 
in  trouble  Stock,  did  not  fhun  him,  becaufe  that 
was  the  moment  he  thought  to  throw  rm  a  little- 
good  advice.  Fie  one  day  afked  him  if  he  al¬ 
ways  intended  to  go  on  in  this  courfe  ?.  No,  faid 


84  The  Two  Shoemakers. 

he,  I  am  refolved  by-and-bye  to  reform,  grow 
fober,  and  go  to  church.  Why  I  am  but  five 
and  twenty,  man,  I  am  flout  and  healthy,  and 
likely  to  live  long ;  I  can  repent,  and  grow  me¬ 
lancholy  and  good  at  any  time. 

Oh  Jack,  laid  Stock,  don’t  cheat  thyfelf  with 
that  falfe  hope.  What  thou  dofl  intend  to  do, 
do  quickly.  Didfl  thou  never  read  about  the 
heart  growing  hardened  by  long  indulgence  in 
fin  ?  Some  folks,  who  pretend  to  mean  well,  fhow 
that  they  mean  nothing  at  all,  by  never  begin¬ 
ning  to  put  their  good  refolutions  into  practice  ; 
which  made  a  wife  man  once  fay,  that  hell  is  paved 
with  good  intentions.  We  cannot  repent  when 
we  pleafe.  It  is  the  goodnefs  of  God  v/hich  lead- 
eth  us  to  repentance. 

Michaelmas-day  was  at  hand.  The  Landlord 
declared  he  would  be  put  off  no  longer,  but 
would  feize  for  rent  if  it  was  not  paid  him  on 
that  day,  as  well  as  for  a  confiderable  fum  due 
to  him  for  leather.  Brown  now  began  to  be 
frightened.  Fie  applied  to  Stock  to  be  bound 
for  him.  This  Stock  flatly  refufed.  Brown  now 
began  to  dread  the  horrors  of  a  jail,  and  really 
feemed  fo  very  contrite,  and  made  fo  'many  vows 
and  promifes  of  amendment,  that  at  length  Stock 
was  prevailed  on,  together  with  two  or  three  of 
Brown’s  other  friends,  to  advance  each  a  fmall 
fum  of  money  to  quiet  the  Landlord,  Brown 
promifing  to  make  over  to  them  every  part  of 
his  flock,  and  to  be  guided  in  future  by  their 
advice,  declaring  that  he  would  turn  over  a  new 
leaf,  and  follow  Mr.  Stock’s  example*  as  well  as 
his  direction  in  every  tiling. 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  8  j 

Stock’s  good  nature  was  at  lafl  wrought  upon-, 
and  he  railed  the  money.  The  truth  is,  he  did 
not  know  the  word:,  nor  how  deeply  Brown  was 
involved  j  Brown  joyfully  fet  out  on  the  very 
quarter-day  to  a  town  at  fome  didance  to  carry 
his  landlord  the  money,  railed  by  the  imprudent 
kindnefs  of  his  friend.  At  his  departure  Stock 
put  him  in  mind  of  the  old  dory  of  Smiler  and 
the  Merry  Andrew7,  and  he  promifed  of  his  own 
head  that  he  would  not  even  call  at  a  public  houfe 
till  he  had  paid  the  money. 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  very  trium¬ 
phantly  palled  by  feveral.  Fie  flopped  a  little 
under  the  window  of  one  where  the  founds  of 
merriment  and  loud  laughter  caught  his  ear. 
At  another  he  heard  the  enticing  notes  of  a 
fiddle  and  the  light  heels  of  the  merry  dancers. 
Here  his  heart  had  w7ell-nigh  failed  him,  but  the 
dread  of  a  jail  on  the  one  hand,  and  what  he 
feared  aimed  as  much,  Mr.  Stock’s  anger  on  the 
other,  fpurred  Tim  on  5  and  he  valued  himfelf 
not  a  little  at  having  got  the  better  of  this  tempta¬ 
tion.  He  felt  quite  happy  when  he  found  he  had 
reached  the  door  of  his  landlord  without  having 
yielded  to  one  idle  inclination. 

He  knocked  at  the  door.  The  maid  who 
opened  it  faid  her  mailer  was  not  at  home.  I  am 
forry  for  it,  faid  he,  flrutting  about,  and  with  a 
boalling  air  he  took  out  his  money.  I  want  to 
pay  him  my  rent :  he  need  not  have  been  afraid 
of  me.  The  Servant,  who  knew  her  mailer 
was  very  much  afraid  of  him,  defired  him  to 
walk  in,  for  her  mailer  would  be  at  home  in  half 
an  hour.  I  will  call  again;,  faid  he  5  but  no,  let 


i  . 


86 


The  Two  Shoemakers. 


IM 


m 


him  call  on  me,  and  the  fooner  the  better  :  I  fhall 
be  at  the  Blue  Pofls.  While  he  had  been  talking 
he  took  care  to  open  his  black  leather  cafe,  and 
to  difplay  the  Bank  Bills  to  the  fervant,  and  then, 
in  a  fwaggering  way,  he  put  up  his  money  and 
marched  off  to  the  Blue  Polls. 

He  was  by  this  time  quite  proud  of  his  own 
refolution,  and  having  tendered  the  money,  and 
being  clear  in  l]is  own  mind  that  it  was  the  land¬ 
lord’s  own  fault,  and  not  his,  that  it  was  not  paid, 
he  went  to  refrefh  himfelf  at  the  Blue  Polls.  In 
a  barn  belonging  to  this  public  houfe  fome  Broi¬ 
lers  were  jull  going  to  perform  fome  of  that  hng- 
fong  ribaldry  by  which  our  villagesare  corrupted, 
the  laws  broken,  and  that  money  is  drawn  from' 
the  poor  for  pleafure.  which  is  wanted  by  their 
families  for  bread.  The  name  of  the  lafl  new 
long  which  made  pare  of  the  entertainment, 
made  him  think  himfelf  in  high  kick,  that  he 
Jliould  have  jull  that  half  hour  to  fpare.  Pie 
went  into  the  barn,  but  was  too  much  delighted 
with  the  adtor,  who  lung  his  favourite  fong,  to 
remain  a  quiet  hearer.  He  leaped  out  of  the 
pit,  and  got  behind  the  two  ragged  blankets 
which  ferved  for  a  curtain.  He  fung  fo  much 
better  than  the  adtors  themfelves,  that  they  praifed 
and  admired  him  to  a  degree  which  awakened  all 
his  vanity.  He  was  fo  intoxicated  with  their  flat¬ 
tery,  that  he  could  do  no  lefs,  than  invite  them  all 
to  flipper,  an  invitation  which  they  were  too  hun¬ 
gry  not  to  accept.. 

He  did  not  however  quite  forget  his  appoint¬ 
ment  with  his  landlord  3  but  the  half  hour  was 
long  knee  paft  by,  And  fays  he5  as  P  know. 


♦ 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  87 

he  is  a  mean  curmudgeon,  who  goes  to  bed  I  fup- 
pofe  by  day  light  to  fave  candle,  it  will  be  too  late 
to  fpeak  with  him  to-night ;  befides,  let  him  call 
upon  me  j  it  is  his  bufinefs,  and  not  mine.  I  left 
word  where  I  was  to  be  found ;  the  money  is 
ready,  and  if  I  don't  pay  him  to-night,  I  can  do 
it  before  break  fail. 

By  the  time  thefe  firm  re  foliations  were  made, 
fupper  was  ready.  There  never  was  a  more  jolly 
evening ;  ale  and  punch  were  as  plenty  as  water. 
The  a&ors  faw  what  a  vain  fellow  was  feading 
them  ;  and  as  they  wanted  victuals,  and  he  wanted 
flattery,  the  bufinefs  was  foon  fettled.  They  ate, 
and  Brown  fling.  They  pretended  to  be  in  rap¬ 
tures.  Singing  promoted  drinking,  and  every 
field)  glafs  produced  a  fong,  or  a  dory,  ftill  ipore 
merry  than  the  former.  Before  morning,  thofe 
who  were  engaged  to  a6t  in  another  barn  a  dozen 
miles  off,  dole  away  quietly.  Brown  having  dropt 
afleep  they  left  him  to  fin  id)  his  nap  by  himfelf  r. 
as  to  him,  his.  dreams  were  gay  and  pleafant,  and 
the  houfe  being  quite  dill,  he  dept  comfortably 
till  morning. 

As  foon  as  he  had  breakfaded,  the  bufinefs  of 
the  night  before  popped  into  his  head.  He  let- 
off  once  more  to  his  landlord’s  in  high  fpirits, 
gaily  dnging  by  the  wTay  fcraps  of  all  the  tunes 
he  had  picked  up  the*  night  before  from  his  new 
friends.  The  landlord  opened  the  door  himfelf,. 
and  reproached  him  with  no  fmall  furline fs  for 
mot  having  kept  his  word  with  him  the  evening 
before,,  adding,  that  he  fuppofed  he  was  come: 
now  with  fame  more  of  his  fhallow  excufes, 
Bxown  put  on  all  that  haughtineft  which  is  com- 


83  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

mon  to  people  who  are  generally  apt  to  be  in  the 
wrong,  when  they  catch  themfelves  doing  a  right 
adlion ;  and  he  looked  bis:,  as  Tome  fort  of 
people  do,  when  they  have  money  to  pay.  You 
need  not  have  been  fo  anxious  about  your  money, 
faid  he,  I  was  not  going  to  break  or  run  away. 
The  landlord  knew  this  was  the  common  lan¬ 
guage  of  thole  who  are  ready  to  do  both.  Brown 
haughtily  added.  You  fh all  lee  I  am  a  man  of  my 
word;  give  me  a  receipt.  The  landlord  had  k 
ready,  and  gave  it  him. 

Brown  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  for  his  black 
leather  cafe  in  which  the  bills  were ;  he  felt,  he 
fearched,  he  examined,  firft  one  pocket,  then  the 
other,  then  both  waiftcoat  pockets,  but  no  leather 
cafe  could  he  find.  He  looked  terrified.  It  was 
the  face  of  real  terror,  but  the  landlord  conceived 
it  to  be  that  of  guilt,  and  abufed  him  heartily  for 
putting  his  old  tricks  upon  him  ;  he  fwore  he 
would  not  be  impofed  upon  any  longer,  the  mo¬ 
ney  or  a  jail,  there  lay  his  choice. 

Brown  protefled  for  once  with  great  truth,  that 
he  had  no  intention  to  deceive ;  declared  that  he 
had  actually  brought  the  money,  and  knew  not 
what  was  become  of  it,  but  the  thing  was  far  too 
unlikely  to  gain  credit.  Brown  now  called  to 
mind  that  he  had  fallen  afleep  on  the  fettle  in  the 
room  where  they  had  fupped.  This  railed  his 
fpirits ;  for  he  had  no  doubt  but  the  cafe  had 
fallen  out  of  his  pocket ;  he  faid  he  would  ftep  to 
the  public  houfe  and  fearch  for  it,  and  would  be 
back  diredtly.  Not  one  word  of  all  this  did  the 
landlord  believe,  fo  inconvenient  is  it  to  have  a 
bad  charadter.  He  fwore  Brown  Ihould  not  ftir 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  $9 

out  of  his  houfe  without  a  condable,  and  made 
him  wait  while  he  fent  for  one.  Brown,  guarded 
by  the  condable,*  went  back  to  the  Blue  Pods, 
the  landlord  charging  the  officer  not  to  lofe  light 
of  the  culprit.  The  caution  was  needlefs,  Brown 
had  not  the  lead  defign  of  running  away,  fo 
firmly  perfuaded  was  he  that  he  ffiould  find  his 
leather  cafe. 

But  who  can  paint  his  difmay,  when  no  tale  or 
tidings  of  the  leather  cafe  could  be  had  !  The 
maker,  the  midrefs,  the  boy,  and  the  maid  of 
the  public  houfe  all  proteded  they  were  innocent. 
His  fufpicions  foon  fell  on  the  drollers  with  whom 
he  had  paffied  the  night ;  and  he  now  found  out, 
for  the  firft  time,  that  a  merry  evening  did  not 
alv/ays  produce  a  happy  morning.  He  obtained 
a  warrant,  and  proper  officers  were  fent  in  pur- 
fuit  of  the  drollers.  No  one  however  believed 
he  had  really  lod  any  thing ;  and  as  he  had  not  a 
Shilling  left  to  defray  the  expenfive  treat  he  had 
given,  the  maker  of  the  inn  agreed  with  the  other 
landlord  in  thinking  this  dory  was  a  trick  to  de¬ 
fraud  them  both,  and  Brown  remained  in  clofe 
cudody.  At  length  the  officers  returned,  who 
faid  they  had  been  obliged  to  let  the  drollers  go, 
as  they  could  not  fix  the  charge  on  any  one,  and 
they  had  all  offered  to  fwear  before  a  judice  that 
they  had  feen  nothing  of  the  leather  cafe.  It  was 
at  length  agreed,  that  as  he  had  pafied  the  even¬ 
ing  in  a  crowded  barn,  he  had  probably  been 
robbed  th^re,  if  at  all ;  and  among  fo  many,  who 
could  pretend  to  guefs  at  the  thief? 

Brown  raved  like  a  madman,  he  cried,  tore 
his  hair,  and  faid  he  was  ruined  for  ever.  The 


9 o  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

abufive  language  of  his  old  landlord,  and  his  new 
creditor  at  the  Blue  Polls,  did  not  lighten  his 
forrow.  His  landlord  would  be  put  off  no 
longer.  Brown  declared  he  could  neither  find 
bail,  nor  raife  another  (hilling,  and  as  foon  as  the 
forms  of  law  were  made  out,  he  was  fent  to  the 
county  jail. 

Here  it  might  have  been  expe&ed  that  hard 
living  and  much  leifure  would  have  brought  him 
to  rerledl  a  little  on  his  paft  follies.  But  his  heart 
was  not  truly  touched,  The  chief  thing  which 
grieved  him  at  firft  was,  his  having  abufed  the 
kindnefs  of  Stock,  for  to  him  he  fhould  appear 
guilty  of  real  fraud,  where  he  had  indeed  been 
only  vain,  idle,  and  imprudent.  And  it  is  worth 
while  here  to  remark,  that  vanity,  idlenefs,  and 
imprudence,  often  bring  a  man  to  ruin  both  foul 
and  body,  though  filly  people  do  not  put  them 
in  the  catalogue  of  heavy  fins,  and  thofe  who  in¬ 
dulge  in  them  are  often  reckoned  honefl  merry 
fellows,  with  good  hearts , 

I  wifh  I  had  room  to  tell  my  readers  what 
befel  Jack  in  his  prefen t  doleful  habitation,  and 
what  became  of  him  afterwards.  I  promife  them, 
however,  that  they  fhall  certainly  know  the  fir  ft 
of  next  month,  when  I  hope  they  will  not  forget 
to  inquire  for  the  Fourth  Part  of  the  Shoemakers* 
or  Jack  Brown  in  prifon. 


The  Two  Shoemakers . 


PART  IV, 

# 

JACK  BROWN  IN  PRISON. 

I  HOPE  the  reader  has  not  forgotten  where 
the  third  part  of  this  hiftory  left  off'lafl  month. 

It  finifhcd  with  m  account  how  Jack  Brown,  by 
keeping  idle  company,  when  he  fhould  have 
been  paying  his  debts,  was  robbed  of  his  pocket* 
book  while  he  was  afleep  on  the  fettle  at  the  Blue 
Polls.  .It  was  alfo  told  how  the  landlord,  not  be¬ 
lieving  one  word  of  his  ftory,  feat  him  to  prifon 
for  debts  long  due  to  him. 

Brown  was  no  fooner  lodged  in  his  doleful  ha¬ 
bitation,  and  a  little  recovered  from  his  firft  fur* 
prife,  when  he  fat  down  and  wrote  his  friend  Stock 
the  whole  hiflory  of  the  tranfa&ion.  Mr.  Stock, 
who  had  long  known  the  exceeding  lightnefs  and  , 
diffipation  of  his  mind,  did  not  fo  utterly  difbe- 
lieve  the  fiery  as  all  the  other  creditors  did.  To 
fpeak  the  truth.  Stock  was  the  only  one  among 
them  who  had  good  fenfe  enough  to  know,  that 
a  man  may  be  completely  ruined,  both  in  what 
relates  to  his  property  and  his  foul,,  without  com¬ 
mitting  Old  Bailey  crimes.  He  well  knew  that 
idlenefs,  vanity,  and  the  love  of  pleajure ,  as  it  is 
falfely  called,  will  bring  a  man  to  a  morfel  of 
bread,  as  furely  as  thofe  things  which  are  reckoned 
much  greater  fins ;  and  that  they  undermine  his 
principles  as  certainly,  though  not,  perhaps, 
quite  fo  fail; 


Q  2  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

Stock  was  too  angry  with  what  had  happened 
to  anfwer  Brown’s  letter,  or  to  feem  to  take  the 
leaft  notice  of  him.  However,  he  kindly  and 
fecretly  undertook  a  journey  to  the  hard-hearted 
old  Farmer,  Brown's  father,  to  intercede  with 
him,  and  to  fee  if  he  would  do  any  thing  for  his 
Ton.  Stock  did  not  pretend  to  excufe  Jack,  or 
even  to  leffen  his  offences;  for  it  was  a  rule  of 
his  never  to  difguife  truth  or  to  palliate  wicked- 
nefs.  Sin  was  ftill  fin  in  his  eyes,  though  it  were 
committed  by  his  bed  friend ;  but  though  he 
would  not  foften  the  fin,  he  felt  tenderly  for  the 
finner.  He  pleaded  with  the  old  Farmer  on  the 
ground,  that  his  foil's  idlenefs  and  other  vices 
would  gather  frefh  flrength  in  a  jail.  He  told 
him,  that  the  loofe  and  worthlefs  company  which 
he  would  there  keep  would  harden  him  in  vice, 
and  if  he  was  now  wicked  he  might  the  re' become 
irreclaimable. 

But  ail  his  pleas  were  urged  in  vain.  The 
Farmer  was  not  to  be  moved.  Indeed  he  argued 
with  fome  juflice,  that  he  ought  not  to  make  his 
induftrious  children  beggars  to  fave  one  rogue 
from  the  gallows.  Mr,  Stock  allowed  the  force 
of  his  reafoning,  though  he  faw  the  father  was 
lefs  influenced  by  this  principle  of  juflice  than  by 
refentment  on  account  of  the  old  ftory  of  Smiler,  • 
People,  indeed,  fhould  take  care  that  what  ap¬ 
pears  in  their  conduct  to  proceed  from  juflice, 
does  not  really  proceed  from  revenge.  Wifer 
men  than  Farmer  Brown  often  deceive  them- 
felves,  and  fancy  they  a£l*  on  better  principles 
than  they  really  do,  for  want  of  looking  a  little 
more  clofely  into  their  own  hearts,  and  putting 


rlhe  Two  Shoemakers ,  93 

down  every  adtion  to  its  true  motive.  When  we 

j 

are  praying  again!!  deceit,  we  fhould  not  forget 
to  take  felf-deceit  into  the  account. 

Mr.  Stock  at  length  wrote  to  poor  Jack  ;  not 
to  offer  him  any  help,  that  wras  quite  out  of  the 
queftion,  but  to  exhort  him  to  repent  of  his  evil 
ways  \  to  lay  before  him  the  fins  of  his  paft  life  ; 
and  to  advife  him  to  convert  the  prefent  punilh- 
ment  into  a  benefit,  by  humbling  himfelf  before 
God.  He  offered  his  intereft  to  get  his  place  of 
confinement  exchanged  for  one  of  thofe  improved 
prifons,  where  folitude  and  labour  have  been 
made  the  happy  inftruments  of  bringing  many  to 
a  better  way  of  thinking ;  and  ended  by  faying, 
that  if  he  ever  gave  any  folid  figns  of  real  amend¬ 
ment  he  would  ftill  be  his  friend  in  fpite  of  all 
that  was  paft. 

If  Mr.  Stock  had  fent  him  a  good  fum  of 
money  to  procure  his  liberty,  or  even  a  trifle  to 
make  merry  with  his  wretched  companions.  Jack 
would  have  thought  him  a  friend  indeed.  But 
to  fend  him  nothing  but  dry  advice,  and  a  few 
words  of  empty  comfort,  was,  he  thought,  but 
a  cheap  fhabby  way  of  fhewing  his  kindnefs. 
Unluckily  the  letter  came  juft  as  he  was  going  to 
fit  down  to  one  of  thofe  direful  merry-makings 
which  are  often  carried  on  with  brutal  riot  within 
the  doleful  walls  of  a  jail  on  the  entrance  of  a 
new  prifoner,  who  is  often  expehled  to  give  a 
feaft  to  the  reft. 

When  his  companions  were  heated  with  gin. 
Now,  faid  Jack,  I’ll  treat  you  with  a  fermori, 
and  a  very  pretty  preachment  it  is.  So  faying, 
he  took  out  Mr.  Stock's  kind  and  pious  letter, 
4  ■ 


The  Two  Shoemakers, 


94 

and  was  delighted  at  the  burfts  of  laughter  it 
produced.  What  a  canting  dog,  laid  one  !  Re¬ 
pentance,  indeed!  cried  Tom  Crew,-  No,  no. 
Jack,  tell  this  hypocritical  rogue  that  if  we  have 
loft  our  liberty,  it  is  only  for  having  been  jolly, 
hearty  fellows,  and  we  have  more  fpirit  than  to 
repent  of  that  I  hope  :  all  the  harm  we  have 
done  is  living  a  little  too  faft,  like  honeft  bucks 
as  we  are.  Aye,  aye,  faid  Jolly  George,  had 
we  been  filch  fneaking  miferly  fellows  as  Stock, 
we  need  not  have  come  hither.  But  if  the  ill- 
nature  of  the  laws  has  been  fo  cruel  as  to  clap 
tip  fuch  fine  hearty  blades,  we  are  no  felons  how¬ 
ever.  We  are  afraid  of  no  Jack  Ketch  ;  and  I 
fee  no  caufe  to  repent  of  any  fin  that’s  not  hang¬ 
ing  matter.  As  to  thofe  who  are  thruft  into  the 
condemned  hole  indeed,  and  have  but  a  few 
hours  to  live,  they  mufl  fee  the  parfon,  and  hear 
a  fermon,  and  fuch  fluff.  But  I  do  riot  know 
what  fuch  flout  young  fellows  as  we  are  have  to 
do  with  repentance.  And  fo.  Jack,  let  us  have 
that  rare  new  catch  which  you  learnt  of  the  ftrol- 
lers  that  merry  night  when  you  loft  your  pocket- 
book. 

Brown  foon  gave  a  frefii  proof  of  the  pow7er  of 
evil  company,  and  of  the  quick  progrefs  of  the 
heart  of  a  finner  from  bad  to  worfe.  Brown, 
who  always  wanted  principle,  foon  grew  to  want 
feeling  alfo.  He  joined  in  the  laugh  which  was 
raifed  againft  Stock,  and  told  many  good  fortes , 
as  they  were  called,  in  derifion  of  the  piety,  fo- 
briety,  and  felf-denial  of  his  old  friend.  He  loft 
every  day  fomewhat  of  thofe  fmall  remains  of 
fhame  and  decency  which  he  had  brought  with 


The  Two  Shoemakers.  gc 

him  to  the  prifon.  Fie  even  grew  reconciled  to 
this  wretched  way  of  life,  and  the  want  of  money 
feemed  to  him  the  heavieft  evil  in  the  life  of  a. 

jail- 

Mr.  Stock  finding,  from  the  gaoler,  that  his 
letter  had  been  treated  with  ridicule,  would  not 
write  to  him  any  more.  Fie  did  not  come  to  fee 
him,  nor  fend  him  any  affiflance,  thinking  it  right 
to  let  him  fufrer  that  want  which  his  vices  had 
brought  upon  him.  But,  as  he  Hill  hoped  that 
the  time  might  come  when  he  might  be  brought 
to  a  fenfe  of  his  own  evil  courfes,  he  continued 
to  have  an  eye  upon  him  by  means  of  the  gaoler, 
who  was  an  hone  11,  kind-hearted  man. 

Brown  fpent  one  part  of  his  time  in  thoughtlels 
riot,  and  the  other  in  gloom  and  fadnefs.  Com¬ 
pany  kept  up  his  fpirits ;  with  his  new  friends  he  * 
contrived  to  drown  thought ;  but  when  he  was 
alone  he  began  to  find  that  a  merry  fellow }  when 
deprived  of  his  companions  and  his  liquor,  is 
often  a  mod  forlorn  wretch.  Then  it  is,  that 
even  a  merry  fellow  fays  of  laughter.  What  is  it? 
and  of  mirth.  It  is  madnefs. 

As  he  contrived,  however,  to  be  as  little  alone 
as  poffible,  his  gaiety  was  commonly  uppermod, 
dll  that  loathfome  diflemper,  called  the  Jail 
Fever,  broke  out  in  the  prifon.  Tom  Crew, 
the  ringleader  in  all  their  evil  practices,  was  firft 
feized  with  it.  Jack  ftaid  a  little  while  with' his 
comrade  to  affifl  and  divert  him,  but  of  adidance 
he  could  give  little,  and  the  very  thought  of  di- 
verfion  was  now  turned  into  horror.  Fie  foon 
caught  the  diflemper,  and  that  in  fo  dreadful  a 
degree,  that  his  life  was  in  great  danger.  Of 


gb  The  Two  Shoemakers, 

thofe  who  remained  in  health  not  a  foul  came 
near  him,  though  he  had  fhared  his  laft  farthing 
with  them.  He  had  juft  fenfe  enough  left  to  feel 
this  cruelty.  Poor  fellow !  he  did  not  know 
before  that  the  friendlhip  of  the  worldly  is  at  an 
end  when  there  is  no  more  drink  or  diverfion  to 
be  had.  He  lay  in  the  moft  deplorable  condi¬ 
tion  ;  his  body  tormented  with  a  dreadful  difeafe, 
and  his  foul  terrified  and  amazed  at  the  approach 
of  death  :  that  death  which  he  thought  at  fo  great 
a  diftance^  and  of  which  his  comrades  had  allured 
him,  that  a  young  fellow,  of  five-and-twenty,  was 
in  no  danger.  Poor  Jack  !  I  cannot  help  feeling 
for  him.  Without  a  Ihilling  !  without  a  friend  ! 
without  one  comfort  refpecfting  this  world,  and, 
what  is  far  more  terrible,  without  one  hope  re- 
fpeding  the  next ! 

Let  not  the  young  reader  fancy  that  Brown’s 
mifery  arole  entirely  from  his  altered  circum- 
ftances.  It  was  not  merely  his  being  in  want, 
and  lick,  and  in  a  prifon,  which  made  his  con¬ 
dition  fo  defperate.  Many  an  honeft  man  un- 
iuftly  accufed,  many  a  persecuted  Saint,  many  a 
holy  Martyr  has  enjoyed  fometimes  more  peace 
and  content  in  a  prifon,  than  wicked  men  have 
ever  tailed  in  the  height  of  their  profperity.  But 
to  any  fuch  comforts  poor  Jack  had  left  himfelf 
no  right. 

Athriftian  friend  generally  comes  forward  at 
the  very  time  when  worldly  friends  forfake  the 
wretched.  The  other  prifoners  would  not  come 
near  Brown,  though  he  had  often  entertained  and 
never  offended  them,  even  his  own  father  was  not 
moved  with  his  fad  condition.  When  Mr.  Stock 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  9^ 

-ntormed  him  of  it,  he  anfwered,  ’tis  no  more 
than  he  defkrves.  As  he  brews  fo  he  mud  bake* 
He  has  made  his  own  bed,  and  let  him  lie  in  it, 
The  hard  old  man  had  ever  at  his  tongue's  end 
fome  proverb  of  hardnefs,  or  frugality,  which 
he  contrived  to  turn  in  fuch  a  way  as  to  excufe 
himfelf. 

We  fliall  now  fee  how  Mr.  Stock  behaved. 
He  had  his  favourite  fayings  too,  but  they  were 
chiefly  on  the  fide  of  kindnefs,  mercy,  or  fome 
other  virtue.  I  mud  not,  faid  he,  pretend  to 
call  myfelf  a  Chriftian,  if  I  do  not  requite  evil 
with  good.  When  he  received  the  gaoler's  letter 
with  the  account  of  Brown’s  fad  condition,  Will 
Simpfon  and  Tommy  Williams  began  to  com¬ 
pliment  him  on  his  own  wifdom  and  prudence, 
by  which  he  had  efcaped  Brown’s  misfortunes. 
He  only  gravely  faid,  Bleffed  be  God  that  I  am 
i  not  in  the  fame  mifery.  It  is  He  who  has  made 
us  to  differ.  But  for  his  grace  I  might  have  been 
in  no  better  condition.  Now  Brown  is  brought 
low  by  the  hand  of  God,  it  is  my  time  to  go  to 
him.  What  you,  faid  Will,  whom  he  cheated  of 
your  money  ?  This  is  not  a.  time  to  remember 
injuries,  faid  Mr.  Stock.  How  can  I  afk  for- 
givenefs  for  my  own  fins,  if  I  withhold  forgive- 
nefs  from  him  ?  So  faying,  he  ordered  his  horfe, 
and  fet  off  to  fee  poor  Brown,  thus  proving  that 
his  was  a  religion  not  of  words  but  of  deeds. 

Stock’s  heart  nearly  failed  him  as  lie  paired 
through  the  priibn.  The  groans  of  the  fick  and 
dying,  and  what  to  fuch  a  heart  as  his  was  flill 
more  moving,  the  brutal  merriment  of  the  healthy 

F 


I 


'gS  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

in  fuch  a  place,  pierced  his  very  foul.  Many  a 
filent  prayer  did  he  put  lip  as  he  palled  along, 
that  God"  would  yet  be  pleafed  to  touch  their 
hearts,  and  that  now  (during  this  infectious  lick- 
nefs)  might  be  the  accepted  time.  The  gaoler 
obferved  him  drop  a  tear,  and  alked  the  caule. 
I  cannot  forget,  faid  he,  that  the  molt  dilfolute  of 
ihefe  men  is  Hill  my  fellow-creature.  The  fame 
God  made  them;  the  fame  Saviour  died  for 
them;  how  then  can  I  hate  the  worft  of  them  ? 
With  my  advantages  they  might  have  been  much 
better  than  I  am  ;  without  the  blefling  of  God  on 
my  good  Minifter’s  inftru&ions,  I  might  have  been 
worfc  than  the  worft  of  thefe.  I  have  no  caufe 
for  pride,  much  for  thankfulnefs ;  let  us  not  he 
high-minded ,  hut  fear. 

It  would  have  moved  a  heart  of  Hone  to  have 
feen  poor,  miferable  Jack  Brown  lying  on  his 
wretched  bed,  his  face  lo  changed  by  pain,  po¬ 
verty,  dirt  and  forrow,  that  he  could  hardly  be 
known  for  that  merry  foul  of  a  jack  boot,  as  he 
ufed  to  be  proud  to  hear  himfelf  called.  His 
groans  were  lo  piteous  that  it  made  Mr.  Stock’s 
heart  ach.  He  kindly  took  him  by  the  hand, 
though  he  knew  the  diftemper  was  catching, 
How  doll  do,  Jack?  faid  he,  doll  know  me  ? 
Brown  Ihook  his  head  and  faid  faintly,  know  you  ? 
aye,  that  I  do.  I  am  lure  I  have  but  one  friend 
in  the  world  who  would  come  to  fee  me  in  this 
woeful  condition.  O  James,  what  have  I  brought 
myfelf  to  ?  What  will  become  of  my  poor  foul  ? 
I  dare  not  look  back,  for  that  is  all  fin ;  nor  for¬ 
ward,  for  that  is  all  mifery  and  woe. 

Mr.  Stock  fpoke  kindly  to  him,  but  did  not 


The  Two  Shoemakers.  gg 

attempt  to  cheer  him  with  falfe  comfort,  as  is  too 
often  done.  I  am  afhamed  to  fee  you  in  this 
dirty  place,  fays  Brown.  As  to  the  place,  Jack, 
replied  the  other,  if  it  has  helped  to  bring  you 
to  a  fenfe  of  your  pad  offences,  it  will  be  no  bad 
place  for  you.  I  am  heartily  forry  for  yourdiftrefs 
and  your  ficknefs  ;  but  if  it  fhould  pleafe  God  by 
them  to  open  your  eyes,  and  to  (hew  you  that 
fin  is  a  greater  evil  than  the  prifon  to  which  it 
has  brought  you,  all  may  yet  be  well.  I  had 
rather  fee  you  in  this  humble  penitent  date,  laying 
on  this  dirty  bed,  in  this  difmal  prifon,  than  roar¬ 
ing  and  rioting  at  the  Greyhound,  the  king  of  the 
company,  with  handfome  cloaths  on  your  back, 
and  plenty  of  money  in  your  pocket. 

Brown  wept  bitterly  and  fqueezed  his  hand, 
but  was  too  weak  to  fay  much.  Mr.  Stock  then 
defired  the  gaoler  to  let  him  have  fuch  things  as 
were  needful,  and  he  would  pay  for  them.  He 
would  not  leave  the  poor  fellow  till  he  had  given 
him  with  his  own  hands  fome  broth  which  the 
gaoler  had  got  ready  for  him,  and  fome  medi¬ 
cines  which  the  dodtor  had  lent.  All  this  kindnefs 
cut  Brown  to  the  heart.  He  was  juft  able  to  fob 
out,  My  unnatural  father  leaves  me  to  perifh,  and 
my  injured  friend  is  more  than  a  father  to  me. 
Stock  told  him  that  one  proof  he  rnuft  give  of 
his  repentance  was,  that  he  muft  forgive  his  fa-, 
ther,  whole  provocation  had  been  very  great. 
He  then  faid  he  would  leave  him  for  the  prefent 
:o  take  fome  reft,  and  defired  him  to  lift  up  his 
leart  to  God  for  mercy.  Dear  James,  replied 
Brown,  do  you  pray  for  me.  God  perhaps  may 


ioo  The  Two  Shoemakers , 

hear  you,  but  he  will  never  hear  the  prayer  of 
fuch  a  finoer  as  I  have  been.  Take  care  how 
you  think  fo,  laid  Stock.  To  believe  that  God 
cannot  forgive  you,  would  be  Itill  a  greater  fin 
than  any  you  have  yet  committed  againft  him. 
He  then  explained  to  him  in  a  few  words,  as  well 
as  he  v'as  able,  the  nature  of  repentance,  and 
forgive  ne  is  through  a  Saviour,  and  warned  him 
earneftly  againft  unbelief  and  hardnefs  of  heart. 

Poor  Jack  grew  much  refrefhed  in  body  with 
the  comfortable  things  he  had  taken ;  and  a  little 
cheered  with  Stock’s  kindnefs  in  coming  fo  far  to 
fee,  and  to  forgive  fuch  a  forlorn  outc'aft,  fick 
of  an  infe&ious  diftemper,  and  locked  within  the 
walls  of  a  prifon.  Surely,  faid  he  to  himfelf, 
there  mull  be  fome  mighty  power  in  a  religion 
which  can  lead  men  to  do  fuch  things !  things  fo 
much  againft  the  grain  as  to  forgive  fuch  an 
injury,  and  to  rifle  catching  fuch  a  diftemper,  but 
he  was  fo  weak  he  could  not  exprefs  this  in 
words.  He  tried  to  pray,  but  he  could  not ; 
at  length,  overpowered  with  wearinefs,  he  fell 
alleep. 

When  Mr.  Stock  came  back,  he  was  furprifed 
to  find  him  fo  much  better  in  body  $  but  his 
agonies  of  mind  were  dreadful,  and  he  had  now 
got  ftrength  to  exprefs  part  of  the  horrors  which 
he  felt.  James,  faid  he,  (looking  wildly)  it  is 
all  over  with  me.  I  am  a  loft  creature.  Even 
your  prayers  cannot  fave  me.  Dear  Jack,  re¬ 
plied  Mr.  Stock,  I  am  no  minifter;  it  does  not 
become  me  to  talk  much  to  thee  :  but  I  know  I 
may  venture  to  fay  whatever  is  in  the  Bible.  As 
ignorant  as  I  am,  I  fhall  be  fafe  enough  while  I 


The  Two  Shoemakers.  -  lor 

flick  to  that.  Aye,  laid  the  Tick  man,  you  ufed 
to  be  ready  enough .  to  read  to  me,  arid  I  would 
not  liken,  or  if  I  did,  it  was  only  to  make  fun  of 
what  I  heard,  and  now  you  will  not  fo  much  as 
read  a  bit  of  a  chapter  to  me. 

This  was  the  very  point  to  which  Stock  longed 
to  bring  him.  So  he  took  a  little  Bible  out  of 
his  pocket,  which  he  always  carried  with  him  on 
a  journey,  and  read  fiowly,  verfe  by  verfe,  the 
55th  chapter  of  Ifaiah.  .  When  he  came  to  the 
iixth  and  feventh  verfes,  poor  Jack  cried  fo  much 
that  Stock  was  forced  to  flop.  The  words  were, 
“  Let  the  wicked  man  forfake  his  way,  and  the 
unrighteous  man  his  thoughts,  and  let  him  return 
unto  the  Lord.”  Here  Brown  flopped  him,  fay¬ 
ing,  Oh  it  is  too  late,  too  date  for  me.  Let  me 
finifh  the  verfe,  faid  Stock,  and  you  will  fee  your 
error  ;  you  will  fee  that  it  is  never  too  late..  So 
he  read  on — u  let  him  return  unto  the  Lord, 
and  he  will  have  mercy  upon  him,  and  to  our 
God,  and  he  will  abundantly  pardon.”  Here 
Brown  flarted  up,  (hatched  the  book  out  of  his 
hand,  and  cried  out,  Is  that  really  there  ?  No, 
no ;  that’s  of  your  own  putting  in,  in  order  to 
comfort  me ;  let  me  look  at  the  words  myfelf. 
No,  indeed,  faid  Stock, .  I  would  not  for  the  world 
give  you  unfounded  comfort,  or  put  off  any  no¬ 
tion  of  my  own  for  a  fcripture  dodtrine.  But  is 
it  poffible  !  cried  the  fide  man,  that  God  may 
really  pardon  me  ?  Dofl  think  he ‘-can  ?  Doff 
think  he  will  ?  I  am  fure  of  it,  faid  Stock  ;  I  dare 
not  give  thee  falfe  hopes  ;  or,  indeed,  any  hopes 
of  my  own.  But  thefe  are  God's  own  words, 

f  3  ; 


to  2  The  Two  Shoemakers, 

and  the  Only  difficulty  is  to  know  when  we  are 
really  brought  into  fuch  a  ftate  as  that  the  words 
may  be  applied  to  us. 

Mr.  Stock  was  afraid  of  faying  more.  He 
would  not  venture  but  of  his  depth  ;  nor,  indeed, 
was  poor  Brown  able  to  bear  more  difeourfe  juft 
now.  So  he  made  him  a  prefent  of  the  Bible, 
folding  down  fuch  places  as  he  thought  might 
be  bell  fuited  to  his  ftate,  and  took  his  leave,  be¬ 
ing  obliged  to  return  home  that  night.  He  left 
a  little  money  with  the  gaoler,  to  add  a- few  com¬ 
forts  to  the  allowance  of  the  prifon,  and  promifed 
to  return  in  a  fhort  time. 

When  he  got  home,  he  deferibed  the  bufferings 
and  mifery  of  Brown  in  a  very  moving  manner ; 
but  Tommy  Williams,  inftead  of  being  properly 
affedled  at  it,  only  faid.  Indeed,  Mafter,  I  am 
not  very  forry ;  he  is  rightly  ferved.  How, 
Tommy,  faid  Mr.  Stock,  (rather  fternly),  not 
forry  to  fee  a  fellow-creature  brought  to  the  loweft 
ftate  of  mifery  !  one  too  whom  you  have  known 
lo  profperous  !  No,  Mafter,  I  can’t  fay  I  am  ; 
for  Mr.  Brown  ufed  to  make  fun  of  you,  and 
laugh  at  you  for  being  fo  godly,  and  reading 
your  Bible. 

Let  me  fay  a  few  words  to  you,  Tommy,  faid 
Mr.  Stock.  In  the  firft  place  you  fhould  never 
watch  for  the  time  of  a  man’s  being  brought  low 
by  trouble  to  tell  of  his  faults.  Next,  you  fhould 
never  rejoice  at  his  trouble,  but  pity  him,  and 
pray  for  him.  Laftly,  as  to  his  ridiculing  me  for 
my  religion,  if  I  cannot  ftand  an  idle  jell,  I  am 
not  worthy  the  name  of  a  C'hriftian. — He  that  is 
ajhamed  of  me  and  my  words ,  doft  remember  what 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  103 

follows,  Tommy  ?  Yes,  Mailer,  ’twas  lad  Sun¬ 
day’s  text, — of  him  fall  the  Son  of  Man  re  afamed 
when  he  fall  judge  the  world . 

Mr.  Stock  foon  went  back  to  the  prifon.  But 
he  did  not  go  alone.  He  took  with  him  Mr, 
Thomas,  the  worthy  Minifter  who  had  been  the 
guide  and  inftrublor  of  his  youth,  who  was  fo 
kind  as  to  go  at  his  reqfiefl  and  vifit  this  forlorn 
prifoner.  When  they  got  to  Brown’s  door,  they 
found  him  fitting  up  in  his  bed  with  the  Bible  in 
his  hand.  This  was  a  joyful  fight  to  Mr.  Stock, 
who  fecretly  thanked  God  for  it.  Brown  was 
reading  aloud  ;  they  likened  ;  it  was  the  fifteenth 
of  Saint  Luke.  The  circumftances  of  this  beau¬ 
tiful  Parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son  were  fo  much 
like  his  own,  that  the  flory  pierced  him  to  the 
foul ;  and  he  flopped  every  minute  to  compare 
his  own  cafe  with  that  of  the  Prodigal.  Pie  was 
juft  got  to  the  eighteenth  verfe,  I  will  arife ,  and 
go  to  my  father, — at  that  moment  he  fpied  his  two 
friends;  joy  darted  into  his  eyes.  O  dear  Jem, 
laid  he,  it  is  not  too  late,  I  will  arife,  and  go  to 
my  father,  my  heavenly  Father,  and  you,  Sir, 
will  fhew  me  the  way,  won’t  you  ?  faid  he  to  Mr. 
Thomas,  whom  he  re c oil e hied.  I  am  very  glad 
to  fee  you  in  fo  hopeful  a  diipofition,  faid  the 
good  Minifler.  O,  Sir,  laid  Brown,  what  a  place 
is  this  to  receive  you  in  !  O,  fee  to  what  I  have 
brought  myfelfl 

Your  condition,  as  to  this  world,  is  indeed  very, 
low,  replied  the  good  Divine.  But  what  are 
mines,  dungeous,  or  gallies,  to  that  eternal,  hope- 
ids  prifon  to  which  your  unrepented  fins  mud 

-  F  4 


ro4  The  Two  Shoemakers. 

loon  have  configned  you  ?  Even  in  this  gloomy 
prifon,  on  this  bed  of  ffraw,  worn  down  by  pain, 
poverty,  and  want,  forfaken  by  your  worldly 
friends,  an  object  of  lcorn  to  thofe  with  whom 
you  ufed  to  caroufe  and  riot,  yet  here,  I  fav. 
Drought  thus  low,  if  you  have  at  laft  found  out 
your  own  vilenefs,  and  your  utterly  undone  Hate 
by  fin,  you  rnay  Hill  be  more  an  objeft  of  favour 
m  the  fight  of  God,  than  when  you  thought 
yourlelf  profperous  and  happy  j  when  the  world 
fmiled  upon  you,  and  you  paffed  your  days  and 
nights  in  envied  gaiety  and  unchriftian  riot.  If 
you  will  but  improve  the  prefcnt  aweful  vifitation  j 
if  you  do  but  heartily  renounce  and  abhor  your 
prefent  evil  courfes ;  if  you  even  now  turn  to  the 
Lord  your  Saviour  with  lively  faith,  deep  repent¬ 
ance,  and  unfeigned  obedience,  I  fhall  Hill  have 
more  hope  of  you  than  of  many  who  are  going 
on  quite  .happy,  becaufe  quite  infenfible.  The 
heavy  laden  finner,  who  has  difeovered  the  ini¬ 
quity  of  his  own  heart,  and  his  utter  inability  to 
help  himfelf,  may  be  reftored  to  God’s  favour, 
and  become  happy,  though  in  a  dungeon.  And 
be  afTured,  that  he  who  from  deep  and  humble 
contrition  dares  not  fo  much  as  lift  up  his  eyes  to 
heaven,  when  with  a  hearty  faith  he  fighs  out 
Lord  be  merciful  to  me  a  finner,  fhall  in  no  wife  be 
caft  out.  Thefe  are  the  words  of  him  who  can¬ 
not  lie. 

It  is  impoffible  to  deferibe  the  felf-abafement, 
the  grief,  the  joy,  the  fhame,  the  hope,  and  the 
fear  which  filled  the  mind  of  this  poor  man.  A 
dawn  of  comfort  at  length  fhone  on  his  benighted 
mind.  His  humility  and  fear  of  falling  back  into 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  105 

his  former  fins,  if  he  fhould  ever  recover,  Mr. 
Thomas  thought  were  ftrong  fymptoms  of  a  found 
repentance.  He  improved  and  cherifhed  every 
good  difpofition  he  faw  rifing  in  his  heart,  and 
particularly  warned  him  againft  felf-deceit,  felf- 
confidence,  and  hypocrify. 

One  day,  when  Mr.  Thomas  and  Mr.  Stock 
came  to  fee  him,  they  found  him  more  than  com¬ 
monly  affedted.  His  face  was  more  ghaftly  pale 
than  ufual,  and  his  eyes  were  red  with  crying. 
Oh,  Sir,,  laid  he,  what  a  fight  have  I  juft  feen  f 
Jolly  George,  as  we  ufed  to  call  him,  the  ring¬ 
leader  of  all  our  mirth,  who  was  at  the  bottom  of 
all  the  fun,  and  tricks,  and  wickednefs,  that  are 
carried  on  within  thefe  walls.  Jolly  George  is  juft 
dead  of  the  jail  diftemper  !  He  taken,  and  I  left! 

I  would  be  carried  into  his  room  to.fpeak  to  him, 
to  beg  him  to  take  warning  by  me,  and  that  I 
might  take  warning  by  him.  But  what  did  I 
fee  \\  what  did  I  hear  !  not  one  fign  of  repent¬ 
ance  not  one  dawn  of  hope..  Agony  of  body, 
blafphemies  on  his  tongue,  defpair  in  his  foul ; 
while  I  am  fpared  and  comforted  with  hopes  of 
mercy  and  acceptance.  Oh,  if  all  my  old  friends 
at  the  Greyhound  could; but  then  have  feen  Jolly 
George  L  A  hundred  fermons  about  death,  Sir, 
don't  fpeak  fo  home,  and  cut  fo  deep,  as  the 
fight  of  one  dying  finner. 

Brown  grew  gradually  better  in  his  health,  that 
is  the  fever  mended,  but  the  diftemper  fettled  in 
his  limbs,  fo  that  he  feemed  likely  to  be  a  poor, 
weakly  cripple  the  reft  of  his  life.  But  as  he 
fpent  much  of  his  time  in  prayer,  and  in  reading 


io6  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

fucli  parts  of  the  Bible  as  Mr.  Thomas  directed, 
he  improved  every  day  in  knowledge  and  piety, 
and  of  courfe  grew  more  refigned  to  pain  and 
infirmity. 

Some  months  after  this,  his  hard-hearted  father, 
who  had  never  been  prevailed  upon  to  fee  him, 
or  offer  him  the  lead  relief,  was  taken  off  fud- 
denly  by  a  fit  of  apoplexy ;  and,  after  all  his 
threatening?,  he  died  without  a  will.  He  was  one 
of  thofe  filly,  fuperftitious  men,  who  fancy  they 
ihall  die  the  fooner  for  having  made  one ;  and 
who  love  the  world  and  the  things  that  are  in  the 
world  fo  dearly,  that  they  dread  to  fet  about  any 
bufinefs  which  may  put  them  in  mind  that  they 
are  not  always  to  live  in  it.  As,  by  this  negled, 
his  father  had  not  fulfilled  his  threat  of  cutting 
him  off  with  a  fh filing.  Jack,  of  courfe,  went 
fhares  with  his  brothers  in  what  their  father  left. 
What  fell  to  him  proved  to  be  juft  enough  to 
difcharge  him  from  prifon,  and  to  pay  ail  his 
debts,  but  he  had  nothing  left.  His  joy  at  being 
thus  enabled  to  make  reftitution  was  fo  great, 
that  he  thought  little  of  his  own  wants.  He  did 
not  defire  to  conceal  the  moft  trifling  debt,  nor 
to  keep  a  fh  filing  for  himfelft 

Mr.  Stock  undertook  to  fettle  all  his  affairs. 
There  did  not  remain  money  enough,  after  every 
creditor  was  fatisfied,  even  to  pay  for  his  removal 
home,  Mr.  Stock  kindly  lent  his  own  cart  for 
him  with  a  bed  in  it,  made  as  comfortable  'as 
poffibie,  for  he  was  too  weak  and  lame  to  be 
removed  any  other  way,  and  Mr.  Stock  gave  the 
driver  a  particular  charge  to  be  tender  and  care- 

A  9 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  107 

ful  of  him,  and  not  to  drive  hard,  nor  to  leave  the 
cart  a  moment. 

Mr.  Stock  would  fain  have  taken  him  into  his 
own  houfe,  at  leak  for  a  time,  fo  convinced  was 
he  of  his  fincere  reformation  both  of  heart  and' 
life;  but  Brown  would  not  be  prevailed  on  to  be 
further  burdenfome  to  this  generous  friend.  Fie 
infilled  on  being  carried  to  the  parifTi  work  houfe, 
which  he  laid  was  a  far  better  place  than  he  de~ 
ferved.  In  this  houfe  Mr.  Stock  furnifhed  a 
fmall  room  for  him,  and  fent  him  every  day  a 
model  of  meat  from  his  own  dinner,  d  ommy 
Williams  begged  that  he  might  always  be  allowed 
to  carry  it,  as  fome  atonement  for  his  having  for 
a  moment  fo  far  forgotten  his  duty,  as  rather  to 
rejoice  than  fympathize  in  Brown’s  misfortunes. 
He  never  thought  of  this  fault  without  for  row, 
and  often  thanked  his  maker  for  the  wholefome 
leffon  he  then  gave  him,  and  he  was  the  better 
for  it  all  his  life. 

Mrs.  Stock  often  carried  poor  Brown  a  bit  of 
tea  or  bafon  of  good  broth  her  lei  f-  Fie  was 
quite  a  cripple,  and  never  able  to  walk  out  as 
long  as  he  lived.  Mr.  Stock,  Will-  Simpfon,  and 
Tommy  Williams  laid  their  heads  together,  and 
contrived  a  fort  of  barrow  on.  which  he  was  often 
carried  to  Church  by  fome  of  his  poor  neigh¬ 
bours,.  of  which  Tommy  was  always  one  ;  and  he 
requited  their  kindnefs,  by  reading  a  good  book 
to  them  whenever  they  would  call  in,  or  teach¬ 
ing  their  children  to  hog  Pfalms  or  fay  the  Cate- 
chi  fm. 

It  was  no  fmall  joy  to  him  thus  to  be  enabled 10 

F  6 


ioS  The  Two  Shoemakers.' 

go  to  Church.  Whenever  he  was  carried  by  the 
Greyhound,  he  was  much  moved,  and  ufed  to 
put  up  a  prayer  full  of  repentance  for  the  paft, 
and  praife  for  the  prefent. 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON. 


'This  Hymn  was  frequently  Jung  by  Jack  Brown  in 

the  Ji^orkhouje. 

BEHOLD  the  wretch,  whofe  luft  and  wine 
Have  wafted  his  eftate  ; 

He  begs  a  fhare  among  the  fwine. 

To  tafte  the  hufks  they  eat. 

I  die  with  hunger  here,  he  cries, 

1  ftarve  in  foreign  lands ; 

My  father’s  houfe  has  large  fupplies. 

And  bounteous  are  his  hands. 

3 ’ll  go,  and  with  a  mournful  tongue 
Fall  down  before  his  face, 

Father,  I’ve  done  thy  juftice  wrong. 

Nor  can  delerve  thy  grace. 

He  faid,  and  haften’d  to  his  home. 

To  feek  his  father’s  love  ; 

The  father  faw  the  rebel  come. 

And  all  his  bowels  move. 

He  ran,  and  fell  upon  his  neck. 

Embrac’d  and  kifs’d  his  fon; 

The  rebel’s  heart  with  forrow  breaks 
For  fins  which  he  had  done. 

8 


10^ 


The  Two  Shoemakers . 

Take  off  his  clothes  of  fhame  and  fin, 
(The  Father  gives  command,) 

Drefs  him  in  garments  white  and  clean. 
With  rings  adorn  his  hand. 

A  day  of  feafling  I  ordain, 

Let  mirth  and  joy  abound. 

My  foil  was  dead  and  lives  again. 

Was  loll,  and  now  is  found. 


PART  V. 

•  I  W  f  ^ 

V 

A  Dialogue  between  James  Stock  and  Will  Simffon, 
the  Shoemakers,  as  they  fat  at  Work . 

JaMES  STOCK,  and  his  journeyman  Will 
Simpfon,  as  I  informed  my  readers  in  the  Se¬ 
cond  Part  of  the  Two  Shoemakers,  had  refolved 
to  work  together  one  hour  every  evening,  in 
order  to  pay  for  Tommy  Williams’s  lchooling. 
This  circumftance  brought  them  to  be  a  good 
deal  together  when  the  red:  of  the  men  were  gone 
home.  Now  it  happened  that  Mr.  Stock  had  a 
mighty  way  of  endeavouring  to  turn  all  common 
events  to  fome  ufe ;  and  he  thought  it  right  on 
the  prefent  oecafion  to  make  the  only  return  -in 
his  power  to  Will  Simpfon  for  his  great  kind- 
ncfs.  For,  faid  he,  if  Will  gives  up  fo  much  of 
his  time  to  help  me  to  provide  for  this  poor  boy, 
it  is  the  lead  I  can  do  to  try  to  turn  part  of  that 
time  to  the  purpofe  of  promoting  Will’s  fpiritual 


i  IO 


The  Two  Shoemakers. 

good.  Now  as  the  bent  of  Stock's  own  mind 
was  religious,  it  was  eafy  to  him  to  lead  their 
talk  to  fomething  profitable.  He  always  rook 
eipecial  care  however,  that  the  fubject  fhould 
be  introduced  properly,  cheerfully,  and  without 
conftraint.  As  he  well  knew  that  great  good 
may  be  fometimes  done  by  a  prudent  attention 
in  ieizing  proper  opportunities,  fo  he  knew  that 
the  caufe  of  piety  had  been  fometimes  hurt  by 
forcing  ferious  fubje&s  where  there  -was  clearly 
no  difpofitton  to  receive  them.  I  fay  he  had 
found  out  that  two  things  were  neceffary  to  the 
promoting  of  religion  among  his  friends  ;  a  warm 
zeal  to  be  always  on  the  watch  for  occafions,  and 
a  cool  judgment  to  didinguifh  which  was  the 
right  time  and  place  to  make  life  of  them.  To 
know  how  to  do  good  is  a  great  matter,  but  to 
know  when  to  do  it  is  no  fmall  one. 

Simpfon  was  an  honed  good  natured  fellow; 
he  was  now  become  fober,  and  rather  religioufly 
difpofed.  But  he  was  ignorant;  he  did  not  know 
much  of  the  grounds  of  religion,  or  of  the  cor¬ 
ruption  of  his  own  nature ;  he  was  regular  at 
church,  but  was  fird  drawn  thither  rather  by  his 
fkill  in  pfalm-finging  than  by  any  great  devotion. .. 
Fie  had  left  off  going  to  the  Greyhound,  and 
often  read  the  Bible,  or  fome  other  good  book- 
on  the  Sunday  evening.  This  he  thought  was 
quite  enough  ;  he  thought  the  Bible  was  the 
prettied  hidory  book  in  the  world,  and  that  re¬ 
ligion  was  a  very  good  thing  for  Sundays.  But 
he  did  not  much  underdand  what  budnefs  people 
had  with  it  on  working  days.  Fie  had  left  off 
drinking  becaufe  it  had  brought  Williams  to  the 


i  u 


The  Two  Shoemakers . 

grave,  and  his  wife  to  dirt  and  rags ;  but  not  be- 
caule  he  himfelf  had  feen  the  evil  of  fin.  He 
now  confidered  {wearing  and  fabbath- breaking  as 
fcandalous  and  indecent,  but  he  had  not  found 
out  that  both  were  to  be  left  off  becaufe  they  are 
highly  offenfive  to  God,  and  grieve  his  Holy  Spi¬ 
rit.  As  Simpfon  was  lefs  ielf-conceited  than  moft 
ignorant  people  are,  Stock  had  always  a  good 
hope  that  when  he  fhould  come  to  be  better  ac¬ 
quainted  with  the  word  of  God,  and  with  the  evil 
of  his  own  heart,  he  would  become  one  day  a 
good  Chriitian.  The  great  hindrance  to  this  was, 
that  he  fancied  himfelf  fo  already. 

One  evening  Simpfon  had  been  calling  to 
Stock’s  mind  how  diforderly  the  houfe  and  fhop, 
where  they  were  now  fitting  quietly  at  work,  had 
formerly  been,  and  he  went  on  thus  : 

Will.  How  comfortably  we  live  now,  in  after, 
to  what  we  u fed  to  do  in  Williams’s  time  l  I  ufed 
then  never  to  be  happy  but  when  we  were  keep¬ 
ing  it  up  all  night,  but  now  I  am  as  merry  as  the 
day  is  long.  I  find  I  am  twice  as  happy  fince  I 
am  grown  good  and  fober. 

Stock .  I  am  glad  you  are  happy,  Will,  and 
I  rejoice  that  you  are  fober;  but  I  would  not 
have  you  take  too  much  pride  in  your  own  good- 
nejs  for  fear  it  fhould  become  a  fin,  almofb  as. 
great  as  fome  of  tho.'e  you  have  left  <  ff.  Befides, 
I  would  not  have  you  make  quite  fo  lure  that  you 
are  good. 

Hill.  Not  good,  m after  !  why  don’t  you  find 
me  regular  and  orderly  at  w  ork  ?  • 

Stock .  Very  much  fo,  and  accordingly  I  have 
a  great  refpedt  for  you. 


112 


The  Two  Shoemakers. 

Will .  I  pay  every  one  his  own,  feldom  mils 
church,  have  not  been  drunk  fince  Williams  died, 
have  handfome  cloaths  for  Sundays,  and  lave  a. 
trifle  every  week.. 

Stock.  Very  true,  and  very  laudable  it  is  ;  and. 
to  all  this  you  may  add,.,  that  you  very  generoufly 
work  an  hour,,  for  poor  Tommy's  education, 
every  evening,,  without  fee  or  reward. 

Will.  Well,  mafter,  what  can  a  man  do 
more  ?.  If  all  this  is  not  being  good,,  I  don  't  know 
what  is. 

Stock.  All  thefe  things  are  very  right  as  far  as 
they  go,  and  you  could  not  well  be  a  Chriftian 
without  doing  them.  But  I  (hall  make  you 
ftare  perhaps  when  I  tell  you,  you  may  do  all 
thefe  things,  and.  many  more,  and  yet  be  no* 
Chriflian.  •  'U  v  . 

Will.  No  Chriflian  !  fnrely,  mafter,  I  do  hope 
that  after  all  I  have  done,  you  will  not  be  fo  un¬ 
kind  as  to  fay  I  am  no  Chriftian,. 

Stock,.  God  forbid  that  I:  fhould  fay  fo,  WilL 
1  hope  better  things  of  you.  But  come  now,, 
what  do  you  think  it  is  to  be  a  Chriftian  ? 

Will.  What  !  why  to  be  chriftened  when  one 
is  a  child,  to  learn  the  Catechifm  when  one  cam 
read,  to  be  confirmed  when  one  is  a  youth,  and 
to  go  to  Church  when  one  is  a  man. 

Stock.  Thefe  are  all  very  proper  things^and^ 
quite  neceflary.  They  make  a.  part  of  a  Chrif- 
tian’s  life.  But  for  all  that,  a  man  may  be  exad; 
in  them  all*  and  yet  not  be  a  Chriftian. 

JVill.  Not  be  a  Chriftan  !  ha  !  ha  1  ha  1  you 
are  very  comical  mafter. 

Stock.  No  indeed,  I  am  very  ferious,  Wiih 


The  Two  Shoemakers.  1 1  j 

At  this  rate  it  would  be  a  very  eafy  thing  to  be  a 
Chriflian,  and  every  man  who  went  through  cer¬ 
tain  forms  would  be  a  good  man  ;  and  one  man 
who  obferved  thefe  forms  would  be  as  good  as 
another.  Whereas,  if  we  come  to  examine  our- 
felves  by  the  word  of  God,  I  am  afraid  there  arc 
but  few  comparatively  whom  our  Saviour  would 
allow  to  be  real  Chriftians.  What  is  your  notion 
of  a  Chriftian’s  pra&ice  ? 

Will .  Why,  he  mull  not  rob  nor  murder,  nor 
get  drunk.  He  muft  avoid  fcandalous  things, 
and  do  as  other  decent  orderly  people  do. 

Stock.  It  is  eafy  enough  to  be  what  the  world 
calls  a  Chriftian,  but  not  to  be  what  the  Bible 
calls  lb. 

IV ill.  Why,  matter,  we  working  men  are  not 
expe<5led  to  be  faints,  and  martyrs,  and  apoftles, 
and  minifters. 

Stock.  We  are  not.  And  yet,  Will,  there  are 
not  two  forts  of  Chriftianity  j  we  are  called  to 
pra<5life  the  fame  Religion  which  they  pra&ifed, 
and  fomething  of  the  fame  fpirit  is  expefred  in 
vs  which  we  reverence  in  them.  It  was  not  faints 
and  martyrs  only  to  whom  our  Saviour  faid  that 
they  mutt  tc  crucify  the  world  with  its  affeftions 
and  lulls.”  We  are  called  to  “  be  holy”  in  our 
meafure  and  degree,  <f  as  he  who  hath  called  us 
is  holy.”  It  was  not  only  faints  and  martyrs 
who  were  told  that  they  mutt  be  <c  like-minded 

with  Chrift” - That  IC  they  mull  do  all  to  the 

glory  of  God” — (C  That  they  mull  renounce  the 
fpirit  of  the  world,  and  deny  them  felves.”  It 
was  not  to  apoftles  only  that  Chrift  faid,  u  they 
mutt  have  their  converfation  in  Heaven.”  It  was 


7 1 4  7T<?  Two  Shoemakers . 

not  to  a  few  holy  men  let  apart  for  the  altar,  .that 
he  laid,  “  they  muff  fet  their  alfe&ions  on  things 
ahove.” — ■'That  they  fc  mull  not  be  conformed  to 
the  world.’7 — No,  it  was  to  Fifhermen,  to  Pub¬ 
licans,  to  Farmers,  to  Day-labourers,  to  poor 
T  raddmen,  that  he  fpoke  when  he  told  them, 
they  mud  “  Jove  not  the  world,  nor  the  things  of 
the  world.” — -<f  That  they  mud  renounce  the  hid¬ 
den  things  of  difhonefty,  grow  in  grace,  lay  up 
for  themfelves  treafures  in  Heaven.”  . 

IV til .  All  this  might  be  very  proper  for  them 
to  be  taught,  becaufe  they  had  not  been  bred  up 
Chriftians,  but  Heathens  or  Jews ;  and  Chrift 
wanted  to  make  them  his  followers,  that  is  Chrif- 
tians.  But  thank  God  we  do  not  want  to  be 
taught  all  this,  for  we  are  Chriftians,  born  in  a 
Chriftian  country,  of  Chriftian  parents. 

Stock.  I  fuppofe  then  you  fancy  that  Chrifti- 
anity  comes  to  people  in  a  Chriftian  country  by 
nature  ? 

kVill.  I  think  it  comes  by  a  good  education  or 
a  good  example.  When  a  fellow  who  has  got 
any  fenfe  fees  a  man  cut  off  in  his  prime  by 
drinking,  I  think  he  will  begin  to  leave  it  off. 
When  he  fees  another  man  refpebled,  like  you, 
maker,  for  honefty  and  fobriety,  and  going  to 
Church,  why  he  will  grow  hone  ft  and  fober  and 
go  to  Church  ;  that  is,  he  will  fee  it  his  advan¬ 
tage  to  be  a  Chriftian. 

Stock.  Will,  what  you  fay  is  the  truth,  but 
ftis  not  the  whole  truth.  You  are  right  as  far  as 
you  go,  but  you  do  not  go  far  enough.  The  * 
worldly  advantages  of  piety  are,  as  you  fuppofe, 
in  general  great.-  Credit,  profperity,  and  health. 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  1x5 

a]  mod  naturally  attend  on  a  religions  life,  both 
becaufe  a  religious  life  iuppofes  a  fober  and  in- 
dudrious  life  ;  and  becaufe  a  man  who  lives  in  a 
courle  of  duty  puts  himfelf  in  the  way  of  God’s 
bidding.  But  a  true  Chridian  has  a  Hill  higher 
aim  in  view,  and  will  follow  Religion  even  under 
circumdances,  when  it  may  hurt  his  credit  and 
ruin  his  profperity,  if  it  Ihould  ever  happen  to 
be  the  will  of  God  that  he  Ihould  be  brought  into 
fuch  a  trying  ft  ate. 

Will.  Well,  mailer,  to  fpeak  the  truth,  if  I 
go  to  Church  on  Sundays,  and  follow  my  work 
in  the  week,  I  mud  fay  I  think  that  is  being 
good. 

Stock.  I  agree  with  you,  that  he  who  does 
both  gives  the  bed  outward  figns  that  he  is  good, 
as  you  call  it.  But  our  going  to  Church,  and 
even  reading  the  Bible,  are  no  proofs  that  we 
are  as  good  as  we  need  be,  but  rather  that  we  do 
both  thefe  in  order  to  make  us  better  than  we  are. 
We  do  both  on  Sundays  as  means  by  God’s  blefs- 
ing,  to  make  us  better  all  the  week.  We  are  to 
bring  the  fruits  of  that  Chapter  or  of  that  Sermon 
into  our  daily  life,  and  try  to  get  our  inmod  heart 
and  fecret  thoughts,  as  well  as  our  daily  conduct, 
amended  by  them. 

JVill.  Why  fure,  mader,  you  won’t  be  fo  unrea- 
fonable  as  to  want  a  body  to  be  religious  always  ! 
1  can’t  do  that  neither.  I’m  not  fuch  a  hypocrite 
as  to  pretend  to  it. 

Stock .  Yes,  you  can  be  fo  in  every  adion  of 
your  life  ! 

Will .  What,  mader,  always  to  be  thinking 
about  Religion  ? 

Stock.  No,,  far  from  it.  Will  j  much  lefs  to  be 


s  1 6  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

always  talking  about  it.  But  you  muft  be  always 
a&ing  under  it's  power  and  fpirit. 

Will*  But  furely  kis  pretty  well  if  I  do  this 
when  I  go  to  Church;  or  while  I  am  laying  my 
prayers.  Even  you,  m after,  as  ftrid  as  you  are, 
would  not  have  me  always  on  my  knees,  nor  al¬ 
ways  at  Church,  I  fuppofe  :  for  then  how  would 
your  work  be  carried  on,  and  how  would  our 
town  be  fupplied  with  fhoes  ? 

Stock .  Very  true,  Will.  ’Twould  be  no 
proof  of  our  religion  to  let  our  cuftomers  go  bare¬ 
foot  ;  but  ’twould  be  a  proof  of  our  lazinefs,  and 
we  fhould  ftarve,  as  we  ought  to  do.  The  bufi- 
nefs  of  the  world  muft  not  only  be  carried  on,  but 
carried  on  with  fpirit  and  adlivity.  We  have  the 
fame  authority  for  not  being  flothful  in  bufinefs,  as 
we  have  for  being  fervent  in  fpirit.  Religion  has 
put  godlinefs  and  lazinefs  as  wide  afunder  as  any 
two  things  in  the  world  ;  and  what  God  has  fe- 
parated,  let  no  man  pretend  to  join.  Indeed, 
the  fpirit  of  religion  can  have  no  fellowfhip  with 
floth,  indolence,  and  felf-indulgence.  But  ftill, 
a  Chriftian  does  not  carry  on  his  common  trade 
quite  like  another  man  neither  ;  for  fomething  of 
the  fpirit  which  he  labours  to  attain  at  Church, 
he  carries  with  him  into  his  worldly  concerns. 
While  there  are  fome  who  fet  up  for  Sunday 
Chriftians,  who  have  no  notion  that  they  are 
bound  to  be  Week-day  Chriftians  too. 

I  nil.  Why,  m  after,  I  do  think,  if  God  Al¬ 
mighty  is  contented  with  one  day  in  feven,  he 
won't  thank-you  for  throwing  him  the  other  fix 
into  the  bargain.  I  thought  he  gave  us  them  for 
our  own  ufe ;  and  I  am  fure  nobody  works  harder 
all  the  week  than  you  do. 


v 


i 


The  Two  Shoemakers,  \  1 7 

Stock.  God,  it  is  true,  fets  apart  one  day  in 
feven  for  a&ual  reft  from  labour,  and  for  more 
immediate  devotion  to  his  fervice.  But  fhew  me 
that  text,  wherein  he  fays,  thou  ftialt  love  the 
Lord  thy  God  on  Sundays — Thou  fhalt  keep  my 
commandments  on  the  Sabbath  Bay. — To  be 
carnally  minded  on  Sundays ,  is  death — Ceafe  to 
do  evil,  and  learn  to  do  well  one  day  in  /even— 
Grow  in  grace  on  the  Lord's  Bay . — Is  there  any 
fuch  text  ? 

Will.  No*  to  be  fure  there  is  not ;  for  that 
would  be  encouraging  fin  in  all  the  other  days. 

Stock .  Yes,  juft  as  you  do  when  you  make 
religion  a  thing  for  the  church  and  not  for  the 
world.  There  is  no  one  lawful  calling  in  pur- 
fuing  which  we  may  not  ferve  God  acceptably. 
You  and  I  may  ferve  him  while  we  are  ftitching 
this  pair  of  boots.  Farmer  Furrow,  while  he  is 
plowing  yonder  field.  Betfy  Weft,  over  the  way, 
whilft  fhe  is  nurfing  her  lick  mother.  Neigh¬ 
bour  Xncle,  in  meafuring  out  his  tapes  and  rib¬ 
bons.  I  fay,  all  thefe  may  ferve  God  juft  as  ac¬ 
ceptably  in  thofe  employments  as  at  Church  *  I 
had  almoft  laid  more  fo. 

Will.  Aye,  indeed— -how  can  that  be  ?  Now 
you’re  too  much  on  t’other  fide. 

Stock .  Becaufe  a  man’s  trials  in  trade  being 
often  greater,  they  give  him  frefh  means  of  glo¬ 
rifying  God,  and  proving  the  fincerity  of  religion. 
A  man  who  mixes  in  bufinefs,  is  naturally 
brought  into  continual  temptations  and  difficulties. 
Thefe  will  lead  him,  if  he  be  a  good  man,  to 
look  more  to  God,  than  he  perhaps  would  other- 
wife  do.  He  fees  temptations  on  the  right  hand 
and  on  the  left ;  he  knows  that  there  are  fnares 


1 1 8  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

all  around  him,  this  makes  him  watchful  :  he  feels 
that  the  enemy  within  is  too  ready  to  betray  him, 
this  makes  him  humble  himfelf ;  while  a  fenfe  oi 
his  own  difficulties  makes  him  tender  to  the  fail¬ 
ings  of  others. 

Will,  Then  you  would  make  one  believe, 
after  all,  that  trade  and  bufinefsmufl  be  finful  in 
itfelf,  fince  it  brings  a  man  into  all  thefe  fnares 
and  icrapes. 

Stock.  No,  no,  Will ;  trade  and  bufmefs  don’t 
create  evil  paffions' — they  were  in  the  heart  before 
— Only  now  and  then  they  feem  to  lie  fnug  a 
little — our  concerns  with  the  world  bring  them 
out  into  addon  a  little  more,  and  thus  ffiew  both 
others  and  ourfelves  what  we  really  are. — But 
then,  as  Tie  world  offers  more  trials  on  the 
one  hand,  lb  on  the  other  it  holds  out  more 
duties.  If  we  are  called  to  battle  oftener,  we  have 
more  opportunities  of  vidlory.  Every  tempta¬ 
tion  refilled,  is  an  enemy  fubdued  ;  and  “  he 
that  ruleth  his  own  fpirit,  is  better  than  he  that 
taketh  a  city.” 

Will.  I  don’t  quite  underffand  you,  mailer. 

Stock.  I  will  try  to  explain  myfelf.  There  is 
no  paffion  more  called  out  by  the  tranfadlions  of 
trade  than  covetoulhefs.  Now,  ’tis  impoffible  to 
withlland  fitch  a  maker  fin  as  that,  without  carry¬ 
ing  a  good  deal  of  the  fpirit  of  religion  into  one’s 
trade. 

Will.  Well,  I  own  I  don’t  yet  fee  how  I  am 
to  be  religious  when  I’m  hard  at  work,  or  bufy 
fettling  an  account.  I  can’t  do  two  things  at 
once  $  ’tis  as  if  I  were  to  pretend  to  make  a  ffioe 
and  cut.  out  a  boot  at  the  fame  moment. 


The  Two  Shoemakers.  rig  ' 

Stock.  I  tell  you  both  muft  fubfift  together, 
Nav,  the  one  muft  be  the  motive  to  the  other, 
God  commands  us  to  be  induftrious,  and  if  we 
love  him,  the  defire  of  pleafing  him  fhould  be 
the  main  fpring  of  our  induftry. 

Will.  I  don’t  fee  how  I  can  always  be  think¬ 
ing  about  pleafing  God. 

Stock.  Suppofe,  now,  a  man  had  a  wife  and 
-children  whom  he  loved,  and  wifhed  to  ferve, 
would  not  he  be  often  thinking  about  them  while 
he  was  at  work  ?  and  though  he  would  not  be  al¬ 
ways  thinking  about  them,  yet  would  not  the  very 
love  he  bore  them  be  a  conftant  fpur  to  his  induf- 
try  ?  He  would  always  be  purfuing  the  fame 
courfe  from  the  fame  motive,  though  his  words, 
and  even  his  thoughts*,  muft  often  be  taken  up  in 
the  common  tranfablions  of  life. 

Will.  Well,  I  fay  firft  one,  then  the  other  ; 
-now  for  labour,  now  for  religiono 

Stock.  I  will  fhewthat  both  muft  go  together. 

I  will  ftippofe  you  were  going  to  buy  fo^many 
fkins  of  our  currier — that  is  quite  a  worldly  tranf- 
aclion — you  can’t  fee  what  a  fpirit  of  religion 
has  to  do  with  buying  a  few  calves’  fkins.  Now, 

I  tell  you  it  has  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it! 

C ove to u fuels,  a  defire  to  make  a  good  bargain! 
may  rife  up  in  your  heart.  Selfifhnefs,  a  fpirit 
of  monopoly,  a  wifh  to  get  all,  in  order  to  dift 
trefs  others;  thefe  are  evil  delires,  and  muft  be 
fubdued.  Some  opportunity  of  unfair  gain  offers, 
in  which  there  may  be  much  fin,  and  yet  little 
he  and  a  L  Here  a  Chriftian  will  ftop  fhort ;  he  will 
recoiled!:,  <£  that  he  who  maketh  hafte  to  be  rich 
fhall  hardly  be  innocent.”  Perhaps  the  fin  may 


120  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

be  on  the  fide  of  your  dealer — he  may  want 
to  overreach  you — this  is  provoking— you  are 
tempted  to  violent  anger,  perhaps  to  fwear — here 
is  a  frefh  demand  on  you  for  a  fpirit  of  patience 
and  moderation,  as  there  was  before  for  a  fpirit 
of  juftice  and  felf-denial.  If,  by  God’s  grace, 
you  get  the  victory  over  thefe  temptations,  you 
are  the  better  man  for  having  been  called  out  to 
them  ;  always  provided,  that  the  temptations  be 
not  of  your  own  feeking.  If  you  give  way,  and 
fink  under  thefe  temptations,  don’t  go  and  fay 
that  trade  and  bufinefs  have  made  you  covetous, 
paliionate,  and  profane.  No,  no;  depend  upon 
it,  you  were  fo  before  ;  you  would  have  had  all 
thefe  evil  feeds  lurking  in  your  heart,  if  you  had 
been  loitering  about  at  home,  and  doing  nothing, 
with  the  additional  fin  of  idlenefs  into  the  bar¬ 
gain.  When  you  are  bufy,  the  devil  often 
tempts  you  ;  when  you  are  idle,  you  tempt  the 
devil.  If  bufinefs  and  the  world  call  thefe  evil 
tempers  into  ad'tion,  bufinefs  and  the  world  call 
that  religion  into  action  too  which  teaches  us  to 
refill  them.  And  in  this  you  fee  the  Week-day 
fruit  of  the  Sunday’s  piety.  ’Tis  trade  and  bu¬ 
finefs  in  the  week  which  call  us  to  put  our 
Sunday  readings,  praying,  and  church-going  into 
practice. 

Will.  Well,  mafler,  you  have  a  comical  way, 
fome  how,  of  coming  over  one,  I  never  fhould 
have  thought  there  would  have  been  any  religion 
wanted  in  buying  and  felling  a  few  calves’  fkins. 
But,  I  begin  to  fee  there  is  a  good  deal  in  what 
you  fay.— And,  whenever  I  am  doing  a  common 


I 


The  Two  Shoemakers .  j  g  \ 

aftion,  I  will  try  to  remember  that  it  mud  be 
done  after  a  godly  fort. 

Stock.  I  hear  the  clock  {trike  nine— let  us 
leave  off  our  work.  I  will  only  obferve  farther, 
that  one  good  end  of  our  bringing  religion  into 
our  bufinefs  is,  to  put  us  in  mind  not  to  undertake 
more  bufinefs  than  we  can  carry  on  confidently  ? 
with  our  religion.  I  {hall  never  commend  that 
man’s  diligence,  though  it  is  often  commended 
by  the  world,  who  is  not  diligent  about  the  falva- 
tion  of  his  foul.  We  are  as  much  forbidden  to  be 
overcharged  with  the  cares  of  life  as  with  it’s  plea- 
fur  es.  I  only  wifh  to  prove  to  you,  that  a  difereet 
Chriftian  may  be  wife  for  both  worlds  ;  that  he 
may  employ  his  hands  without  entangling  his 
foul,  and  labour  for  the  meat  that  perifheth,  with¬ 
out  negle&ing  that  which  endureth  unto  eternal 
life  that  he  may  be  prudent  for  time,  while  he 
is  wife  for  eternity. 


THE  HYMN. 

O  THAT  that  the  Lord  would  guide  my  ways, 
To  keep  his  lfatutes  dill  ! 

O  that  my  God  would  give  me  grace 
To  know  and  do  his  will  ! 

Lord  fend  thy  fpirit  down  to  write 
Thy  love  upon  my  heart. 

Nor  let  my  tongue  indulge  deceit*. 

Nor  adl  a  liar's  part, 

G 


,2  The  Two  Shoemakers . 

i 

From  vanity.  Lord,  turn  mi-ne  eyes* 
Let  no  corrupt  defign, 

No  covetous  de fires  arife 
Within  this  foul  of  mine. 


Order  my  foodfeps  by  thy  word* 
And  make  my  heart  fmcere  ; 

Let  fin  have  no  dominion.  Lord, 

But  keep  my  confcience  clear- 

My  foul  hath  gone  too  far  aflray. 

My  feet  too  often  flip  j 

1  would  not,  Lord,  forget  thy  way. 
Bring  back  thy  wandering  fheep- 

Make  me  to  walk  in  thy  commands, 
’Tis  a  delightful  road  ; 

Nor  let  my  head,  or  heart,  or  hands. 
Offend  againft  my  God 


THE* 


TWO  WEALTHY  FARMERS  - 

OR, 

THE  HISTORY 

OF 

Mr.  BRAG  WELL.  • 


iVTR.  Brag  well  -and  Mr.  Worthy  happened  to 
meet  laft  year  at  Weyhiil-Fair.  They  were  glad 
to  fee  each  other,  as  they  had  but  feldom  met  of 
late  ;  Mr.  Bragwell  having  removed,  fbme  years 
before,  from  Mr.  Worthy's  neighbourhood,  to  a 
diftant  village  where  he  had  bought  an  eftate* 


G  2 


\ 


j2  4  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers • 

Mr.  Bragwell  was  a  fubftantial  Farmer  and 
Crazier.  He  had  rifen  in  the  world  by  what 
worldly  men  call  a  run  of  good  fortune.  Fie  had 
alfo  been  a  man  of  great  induftry ;  that  is,  he  had 
paid  a  diligent  and  conftant  attention  to  his  own 
intereft.  He  underftood  bufinels,  and  had  a 
knack  of  turning  almoft  every  thing  to  his  own 
advantage.  He  had  that  fort  of  fenfe,  which 
good  men  call  cunning,  and  knaves -call  wifdom. 

He  was  too  prudent  ever  to  do  any  thing  fo 
wrong  that  the  law  could  take  hold  of  him  ; 
yet  he  was  not  over  fcrupulous  about  the  morality 
of  an  abtion,  when  the  profpeft  of  enriching  hi'rn- 
felf  by  it  was  very  great,  and  the  chance  of  hurt¬ 
ing  his  char  abler  was  fmall.  The  corn  he  lent 
home  to  his  cuftomers  was  not  always  quite  fo 
good  as  the  famples  he  had  produced  at  market, 
and  he  now  and  then  forgot  to  name  fome  capital 
blemifh  in  the  hones  he  fold  at  fair.  Fie  fcorned 
to  be  guilty  of  the  petty  frauds  of  cheating  in 
weights  and  meafures,  for  he  thought  that  was  a 
beggarly  fin  ;  but  he  valued  himfelf  on  his  fkill 
in  making  a  bargain,  and  fancied  it  fnewed  his 
knowledge  of  the  world  to  take  advantage  of  the 
ignorance  of  a  dealer. 

^  It  was  his  conftant  rule  to  undervalue  every 
thing  he  was  about  to  buy,  and  to  overvalue 
every  thing  he  was  about  to  lell ;  but  as  he 
prided  himfelf  on  his  charabler  he  avoided  every  _ 
thing  -that  was  very  fhameful,  io  that  he  was 
confide  red  merely  as  a  hard  dealer,  and  a  keen 
hand  at  a  bargain.  Now  and  then,  when  he  had 
been  caught  in  pufhing  his  own  advantage  too  far, 
he  contrived  to  get  out  of  the  ferape  by  mrning 


The  Two  Wealthy  Fanners.  125 

the  whole  into  a  jefly  faying,  it  was  a  good  take 
in,  a  rare  joke,  and  that  he  had  only  a  mind  to 
divert  himfelf  with  the  folly  of  his  neighbour, 
who  could  be  fo  eafily  impofed  on. 

Mr.  Bragwell  had  one  favourite  maxim,  namely, 
that  a  man’s  fuccefs  in  life  was  a  lure  proof  or  his 
wifdom  ;  and  that  all  failure  and  misfortune  was 
the  confequence  of  a  man’s  own  folly.  As  this 
opinion  was  fil'd  taken  up  by  him  from  vanity  and 
ignorance  5  fo  it  was  more  and  more  confirmed 
by  his  own  profperity.  He  faw  that  he  himfelf 
had  fucceeded  greatly  without  either  money  or 
education  to  begin  with,  and  he  therefore  now 
defpifed  every  man,  however  excellent  his  cha¬ 
racter  or  talents  might  be,  who  had  not  had  the 
fame  fuccefs  in  life.  His  natural  difpofition  was 
not  particularly  bad,  but  profperity  had  hardened 
his  heart.  He  made  his  own  progrefs  in  life  the 
rule  by  which  the  conduct  of  all  other  rfien  was 
to  be  judged,  without  any  allowance  for  their 
peculiar  difad  vantages,  or  the  vibrations  of  Pro¬ 
vidence.  He  thought,  for  his  part,  that  every 
man  of  fenfe  could  command  fuccefs  on  his  un¬ 
dertakings,  and  controul  and  difpofe  the  events 
of  his  own  life. 

But  though  he  con  fide  red'  thofe  who  had  had 
lefs  fuccefs  than  himfelf,  as  no  better  than  fools, 
yet  he  did  not  extend  this  opinion  to  Mr.  Worthy, 
whom  he  looked  upon  not  only  as  a  good  but 
wife  man.  They  had  been  bred  up,  when  chil¬ 
dren,  in  the  fame  houfe,  but  with  this  difference, 
that  Yforthy  was  the  nephew  of  the  m after,  and 
Bragwell  the  fon  of  the  lervant. 


126  The  Two  Wealthy  Fanners, 

Bragwell’s  father  had  been  ploughman  in  the 
family  of  Mr.  Worthy’s  uncle,  a  fenfible  man,  who 
farmed  afmall  eftateof  his  own,  and  who,  having 
no  children,  bred  up  young  Worthy  as  his  fon,  in- 
if  ru died  him  in.  the  bufinefs  of  hufbandry,  and  at 
his  death  left  him  his  eftate.  The  father  of  Wor¬ 
thy  was  a  pious  clergyman,  who  lived  with  his 
brother  the  farmer,  in  order  to  help  out  a  narrow 
income.  He  had  bellowed  much  pains  on  the 
Inftrudtion  of  his  fon,  and  ufed  frequently  to  re¬ 
peat  to  him  a  faying  which  he  had  picked  up  in 
a  book,  written  by  one  of  the  greateft  men  in. this 
country, — that  there  were  two  things  with  which 
every  man  ought  to  be  acquainted,  religion  and 
his  own  business.  While  he  therefore  took  care 
that  his  fon  fhould  be  made  an  excellent  Farmer, 
he  filled  up  his  leifure  hours  in  improving  his 
mind  :  fo  that  young  Worthy  had  read  more  good 
books,  and  underflood  them  better,  than  mo  ft 
men  in  his  ftation.  His  reading,  however,  had 
been  chiefiy  confined  to  hufbandry  and  divinity, 
the  two  fubjedls  which  were  of  the- moil  imme¬ 
diate  importance  to  him. 

The  reader  will  fee  by  this  time,  that  Mr. 
Bragwell  and  Mr.  Worthy  were  likely  to  be  as 
oppofite  to  each  other  as  two  men  could  well  be, 
who  were  nearly  of  the  fame  age  and  condition, 
and  who  were  neither  of  them  without  credit  in  the 
world.  Bragwell  indeed  made  far  the  greater 
figure,  for  be  liked  to  cut  a  daft,  as  he  called  it. 
And  while  it  was  the  ftudy  of  W orthy  to  conform 
to  his  ftation,  and  to  fet  a  good  example  to  thofe 
about  him,  it  v/as  the  delight  of  Bragwell  to  vie 
in  his  way  of  life  with  men  of  larger  fortune. 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers \ 

He  did  not  fee  how  much  this  vanity  railed  the 
envy  of  his  inferiors,.  the  ill-will  of  his  equals,  and 

the  contempt  of  his  betters. 

;  His  wife  was  a  notable  flirting  woman,  but 
vain,  violent,  and  ambitious ;  very  ignorant,  and 
very  high-minded.  She  had  married  Biagwell 
before  he  was  worth  a  drilling,  and  as  the  had 
brought  him  a  good  deal  of  money',  Hie  thought 
herfelf  the  grand  caufe  of  his  riling  in  the  world, 
and  thence  took  occahon  to  govern  him  mot 
completely.  Whenever  he  ventured  to  oppoie 
her,  (lie  took  care  to  put  him  in  mind  that  he 
owed  every  thing  to  her,  that  had  it  not  been  for 
her  he  might  dill  have  been  flumping  after  a 
plough- tail,° or  ferving  hogs  in  old  Worthy’s  firm- 
yard,  but  that  it  was  fin e  who  had  made  a  gen¬ 
tleman  of  him.-.  In.  order  to  let  about  .making 
him  a  gentleman,  fhe  had  begun  by  teazmg  him 
till  he  had  turned  away  all  his  poor  relations  who 
worked  in  the  farm.  She  next  drew  him  ort 
from  keeping  company  with  his  old  acquaint¬ 
ance,  and  at  lad  perfuaded  him/to  remove  from 
the  place  where  he  had  got  his  money.  Pool 
woman  1  die  had  not  fenfe  and  virtue  enough  to 
fee  how  honorable  it  is  for  a  man  to  raife  him- 
felf  in  the  world  by  fair  means,  and  then  to  hop 
forward  his  poor  relations  and  friends  ;  engaging 
their  fervices  by  his  kindncls,  and  endeavouring 
to  keep  want  out  of  the  family. 

Mrs.  Bragwell  was  an  excellent  miftiefs,  ac¬ 
cording  to  her  own  notions  oi  excellence,  foi  oy 
one  could  fay  that  die  ever  loft  an  opportunity  of 
1  col  ding  a  fervant,  or  was  ever  guilty  of  the  weak- 

G  4 


i  2  8  The  Tzvo  Wealthy  Farmers . 

riels  of  overlooking  a  fault.  Towards  her  two 
daughters  her  behaviour  was  far  otherwife.  In 
them  fire  could  fee  nothing  but  perfedlions  ;  but 
her  extravagant  fondnefs  for  thefe  girls  was  full 
as  much  owing  to  pride  as  to  affc&ion.  She  was 
bent  on  making  a  family,  and  having  found  out 
that  fhe  was  too  ignorant,  and  too  much  trained 
to  the  habits  of  getting  money,  ever  to  hope  to 
make  a  figure  herfelf,  fire  looked  to  her  daughters 
as  the  perfons  who  were  to  raife  the  family  of 
the  Bragwells  ;  and  in  this  hope  fire  foolifhly  fub- 
mitted  to  any  drudgery  for  their  fakes,  and  bore 
every  kind  of  impertinence  from  them. 

The  firft  wifh  of  her  heart  was  to  fet  them 
above  their  neighbours;  for  fhe  ufed  to  fay,  what 
was  the  ufe  of  having  fubftance,  if  her  daughters 
might  not  carry  themfelves  above  girls  who  had 
nothing  ?  i  o  do  her  jufiice,  fhe  herfelf  would  be 
about  early  and  late  to  fee  that  the  bufinefs  of  the 
houfe  was  not  negiebled.  She  had  been  bred  to 
great  induflry,  and  continued  to  work  when  it 
was  no  longer  necefTary,  both  from  early  habit, 
and'  the  delire  of  heaping  up  money  for  her’ 
daughters.  iret  her  whole  notion  of  gentility 
was,  that  it  confided  in  being  rich  and  idle  ;  and 
though  flie  was  willing  to  be  a  drudge  herfelf,  fhe 
refolved  to  make  her  daughters  gentlewomen  on 
this  principle.  To  be  well  drefTed,  and  to  do  no¬ 
thing,  or  nothing  which  is  of  any  ufe,  was  what  fhe 
fancied  diftinguifhed  people  in  genteel  life.  And 
this  is  too  common  a  notion  of  a  fine  education 
among  fome  people.  They  do  not  efteem  things 
by  their  ufe,  but  by  their  fhew.  They  eftimate 
the  value  of  their  children’s  education  by  the  mo- 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  129 

ney  it  cofts,  and  not  by  the  knowledge  and  good- 
nels  it  bellows.  People  of  this  (lamp  often  take 
a  pride  in  the  expence  of  learning,  inftead  or  tak¬ 
ing  pleafure  in  the  advantages  of  it.  And  the  filly 
vanity  of  letting  others  fee  that  they  can  afford 
any  thing,  often  fets  parents  on  letting  their  daugh¬ 
ters  learn  not  only  things  of  no  ufe,  but  things 
which  may  be  really  hurtful  in  their  fituation  ; 
either  by  letting  them  above  their  proper  dudes* 
or  by  taking  up  their  time  in  a  way  inconfiftent 
with  them. 

Mrs.  Bragwell  fent  her  daughters  to  a  boarding 
fchool,  where  fhe  inftrudted  them  to  hold  up  their 
heads  as  high  as  any  body  ;  to  have  more  fpirit 
than  to  he  'put  upon  by  any  one ;  never  to  be  piti¬ 
ful  about  money,  but  rather  to  fhew  that  they 
could  fpend  with  the  bell;  to  keep  company  with 
the  richeft  girls  in  the  fchool,  and  to  make  no  ac¬ 
quaintance  with  Farmers  Daughters. 

They  came  home  at  the  ufual  age  of  leaving 
fchool,  with  a  laage  portion  of  vanity  grafted  on 
their  native  ignorance.  The  vanity  was  added, 
but  the  ignorance  was  not  taken  away.  Of  Re¬ 
ligion  they  could  not  poffibly  learn  any  thing, 
iince  none  was  taught,  for  at  that  place  it  was  con- 
fide  red  as  a  part  oi  education  which  belonged  only 
to  Charity  Schools.  Of  knowledge  they  got  juft 
enough  to  laugh  at  their  fond  parents'  ruffle  man- 
ners  and  vulgar  language,  and  juft  enough  tafte  to 
defpife  and  ridicule  every  girl,  who  was  not  as 
vainly  dreffed  as  themfelves. 

The  mother  had  been  comforting  herfelf  for 
the  heavy  expence  of  their  bringing  up,  by  look- 

G5 


1 30  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

ing  forward  to  the  pleafure  of  feeing  them  become 
fine  ladies,  and  to  the  pride  of  marrying  them 
above  their  ftation. 

Their  father  hoped  alfo  that  they  would  be  a 
comfort  to  him  both  in  ficknefs  and  in  health. 
He  had  had  no  learning  himfelf,  and  could  write 
but  poorly,  and  owed  what  (kill  he  had  in  figures 
to  his  natural  turn  for  bufinefs.  Fie  hoped  that 
his  daughters,  after  all  the  money  he  had  fpent  on 
them,  would  now  write  his  letters,  and  keep  his 
accounts.  And  as  he  was  now  and  then  laid  up 
with  a  fit  of  the  gout,  he  was  enjoying  the  pro- 
fpeCt  of  having  two  affectionate  children  to  nurfe 
him. 

When  they  came  home,  however,  he  had  the 
mortification  to  find,  that  though  he  had  two  fmart 
fhowv  ladies  to  vifit  him,  he  had  neither  dutiful 
daughters  to  nurfe  him,  nor  faithful  fie  wards  to 
keep  his  books,  nor  prudent  children  to  manage 
his  houfe.  They  neither  foothed  him  by  kind-- 
nefs  when  he  was  Tick,  nor  helped  him  when  he 
was  bufy.  They  thought  the  maid'  might  take 
care  of  him  in  the  gout,  as  fhe  did  before.  And 
as  to  their  fkill.  in  cyphering,  he  foon  found,  to  his 
coft,  that  though  they  knew  how  to Jpend  both 
Founds,  Shillings,  and  Fence,  yet  they  did  not 
know  fo  well  how  to  caft  them  up,. 

Mrs.  Bragwell  one  day,  being  very  bufy  in  pre¬ 
paring  a  great  dinner  for  the  neighbours,  ventured- 
to  requefi  her  daughters  to  affifi  in  making  the 
paftry.  They  afked  her  fcornfully,  whether  fhe 
had  lent  them  to  Boarding  School  to  learn  to 
cook ;  and  added,  that  they  fuppofed  fine  would 
cxpedt  them  next  to  make  puddings  for  the  hay- 


.  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers , .  rji T 

makers.  So  faying,  they  coolly  marched  off  to 
their  mufic.  When  the  mother  found  her  girls 
were  too  polite  to  be  of  any  ufe,.  fne  would  take 
comfort  in  obferving  how  her  parlour  was  fet  out 
with  their  Fiiiasree  and  Flowers,  their  Embroi- 
dery  and  Cut  paper.  They  fpent  the  morning  in 
bed,  the  noon  in  dreffing,  the  evening  at  the 
Spinnet,  and  the  night  in  reading  Novels. 

With  all  thefe  fine  qualifications  it  is  eafy  to 
fiippofe,  that  as.  they  defpifed  their  fober  duties,, 
they  no  lefs  defpifed  their  plain  neighbours.  When 
they  could  not  get  to  a  horfe  race,  a  petty  ball, 
or  a  drolling  play,  witii  fome  company  as  idle  and 
as  fni  art  as  themfelves,  they  were  driven  fora  mu  le¬ 
nient  to  the  Circulating-Library.  Jack,  the  plough- 
boy,  on  whom  they  had  now  put  a  livery,  jacket, 
was  employed  half  his  time  in  trotting  backwards  , 
and  forwards,  with- the:  mod  wretched  trafhthe. 
little  neighbouring  book-dsop  could  furnifh.  The 
choice  was*  often  left  to  Jack,  who  could  not  read,, 
but  who  had  general  orders  to  bring  all  the  new 
things,  and  a  great  many  of  them,. 

Things  were  in  this  date,  or  rather  growing 
worfe,.  for  idlenefs  and  vanity  are  never  at  a 
d and  ;  when  thefe,Two  Wealthy  Fanners,  Brag- 
well,  and  Worthy,  met  at  Weyhill  Fair,  as  was 
faid  before.  After  many  hearty  habitations  had 
paffed  between  them,  it  was  agreed  that  Mr. 
Bragwell  fhould  fpend  the  next  day  with 'his  old. 
friend,  whole  houfe.was  not  many  miles  didant*, 
Bragwell.  invited  himfelf  in  the  following  man¬ 
ner  We  have  not  had  a  comfortable  day's  chat 
for.  vears,  faid  he,  and  as  I  am  to  look  at  a  drove. 


132  '  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

of  lean  beafbs  in  your  neighbourhood,  I  will  take 
a  bed  at  your  houfe,  and  we  will  pafs  the  evening 
in  debating  as. we  ufed  to  do.  You  know  I  al¬ 
ways  loved  a  bit  of  an  argument,  and  am  reck¬ 
oned  not  to  make  the  word:  figure  at  our  club  : 
I  had  not,  to  be  fure,  fuch  good  learning  as  you 
had,  becaufe  your  father  was  a  parfon,  and  you 
got  it  for  nothing  ;  but  I  can  bear  my  part  pretty 
well  for  all  that.  When  any  man  talks  to  me 
about  his  learning,  I  afk  if  it  has  helped  him  to 
get  a  good  eftate  ;  if  he  fays  no,  then  I  would  not 
give  him  a  rufn  for  it ;  for  of  what  ufe  is  all  the 
learning  in  the  world  if  it  does  not  make  a  man 
rich  ?  But  as  I  was  faying,  I  will  come  and  fee 
you  to-morrow  ;  but  now  don't  let  your  wife  put 
herfelf  into  a  fufs  for  me.  Don’t  alter  your  own 
plain  way,  for  I  am  not  proud,  1  allure  you,  nor 
above  my  old  friends,  though,  I  thank  God,  I  am 
pretty  well  in  the  world. 

To  all  this  flouriihing  fpeech  Mr.  Worthy 
coolly  anfwered,  that  certainly  worldly  profperity 
ought  never  to  make  any  man  proud,  fince  it  is 
God  whogiveth  flrength  to  get  riches,  and  with¬ 
out  his  blefiing,  ’tis  in  vain  to  rife  up  early ,  and  to 
eat  the  bread  of  carefulnefs . 

About  the  middle  of  the  next  day,  Mr.  Brag- 
well  reached  Mr.  Worthy’s  neat  and  pleafant 
dwelling.  He  found  every  thing  in  ‘it  the  re¬ 
verie  of  his  own.  It  had  notfo  many  ornaments, 
but  it  had  more  comforts.  And  when  he  faw  his 
friend's  good  old  fafhioned  arm  chair  in  a  warm 
corner,  he  gave  a  figh  to  think  how  his  own  had 
been  banifhed  to  make  room  for  his  daughter's 
Piano  Forte.  Inilead  of  made  Bowers  in  glafs 


The  Two  JVealthy  Farmers .  i  jj 

cafes,  and  a  tea-chefl  and  fcreen  too  fine  to  be 
tifed,  which  he  faw  at  home,  and  about  which  lie 
was  cautioned,  and  fcolded  as  often  as  he  came 
near  them,  he  faw  a  neat  fuel f  of  good  books  for 
the  fervice  of  the  family,  and  a  fmall  medicine 
cheft  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor. 

Mrs.  Worthy  and  her  daughters  had  prepared 
a  plain  but  neat  and  good  dinner.  The  tarts 
were  fo  excellent,  that  Bragwell  felt  a  fecret  kind 
of  regret  that  his  owndaughters  were  too  genteel 
to  do  any  thing  fo  very  ufeful.  Indeed  he  had 
been  always  unwilling  to  believe  that  any  thing, 
which  was  very  proper  and  very  necefTary,  could 
be  fo  extremely  vulgar  and  unbecoming  as  his 
daughters  were  always  declaring  it  to  be.  And 
his  late  experience  of  the  little  comfort  he  found 
at  home,  inclined  him  now  dill  more  ftrongly  to 
fufoect  that  things  were  not  fo  right  as  he  had  been 
made  to  fuppofe.  But  it  was  in  vain  to  fpeak  ; 
for  his  daughters  c.onflantly  flopped  his  mouth  by 
a  favourite-faying  of  theirs,  better  be  out  of  the 
world  than  out  of  the  fafhion. 

Soon  after  dinner  the  women  went  out  to  their 
feveral  employments,  and  Mr.  Worthy  being  left 
alone  with  his  gueft,  the  following  diicourfe  took 
place  : 

Bragwell.  You  have  a  couple  of  fober  pretty 
looking  girls,  Worthy  ;  but  I  wonder  they  don’t 
tiff  off  a  little  more.  Why  my  girls  have  as 
much  fat  and  flour  on  their  heads  as  would  half 
maintain  my  reapers  in  fuet  pudding. 

J  For  thy.  Mr.  Bragwell,  in  the  management 
of  my  family,  I  don’t  confider  what  I  might  afford 
only,  though  that  is  one  great  point  5  but  I  con- 


I 


I j'4  The  Two  Wealthy  'farmers 

fider  alfo  what  is  needful  and  becoming  in  a  man 
of  my  ftation,  for  there  are  fo  many  ufeful  ways  of 
laying  out  money*  that  I  feel  as  if  it  were  a  fin  to 
ip  end  one  unnecelTary  fhilling.  Having  had  the 
bleffing  of  a  good  education  myfelfi,  I  have  been 
able  to  give  the  like  advantage  to  my  daughters. 
One  of  the  be  ft.  k  (Tons  I  have  taught  them  is,  to 
'know  themfelves ;  and  one  proof  that  they  have 
learnt  this  lefTon  is,,  that  they  are  not  above  any 
of  the  duties  of  their  ftation.  They  read  and  write 
well,  and  when  my  eyes  are  bad,  they  keep  my 
accounts  in  a  very  pretty  manner.  If  I  had  put 
them  to  learn  what  you  call  genteel  things ,  thefe 
might  either  have  been  of  no  ufe  to  them,  and  fo 
both  time  and  money  might  have  been  thrown 
away  ;  or  they  might  have  proved  work  than  no¬ 
thing  to  them,  by  leading  them  into  wrong  no- 
*  tions,  and  wrong  company.  Though  we  don't 
will)  them  .to  do  the  laborious  parts  of  the  dairy 
work  ;  yet  they  always  a  (lift  their  mother  in  the 
management  of  it.  .  As  to  their  appearance,  they 
are  every  day  nearly  as  you  fee  them  now,  and  on 
Sundays  they  are  very  neatly  d  re  fled,,  but  it  is 
always  in  a  decent  and  modeft  way.  There  are 
no  lappets,,  fringes,  furbelows,  and  tawdry  orna¬ 
ments,  fluttering  about  among  my  cheefe  and 
butter.  And  I  fhould  feel  no  vanity,  but  much 
mortification,  if  aftranger,  feeing  Farmer  Wor¬ 
thy’s  daughters  at  Church,  fhould  afk  who  thofe 
fine  ladies  were.. 

Bragwell.  Now  I.  own  1  fnould  like  to  have 
fuch  a  queftion  afked  concerning  my  daughters. 

I  like  to  make  people  flare  and  envy.  It  makes 
one  feel  one-felf  homebody.  But  as  to  yourfelf. 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  rj  f 

to  be  fure  you  belt  know  what  you  can  afford 
And  indeed  there  is  fome  difference  between  your 
daughters  and  the  Mils  Bragwells. 

Worthy.  For  my  part,  before  I  engage  in  any 
expence,  I  always  afk  myfelf  thefe  two  fh ore  quef- 
tions,  Firft,  Gan  1  afford  it  Secondly,.  Is  it 
proper  for  me  ? 

Bragwell.  Do  you  fo  ?.  Now  I  own  I  afk 
myfelf  but  one..  For  if  I  find  I  can  afford  it,  I 
take  care  to  make  it  proper  for  me..  If  I  can  pay 
for  a  thing,  no  one  has  a  right  to  hinder  me  from: 
having  it. 

•  Worthy.  Certainly.  But  a.  man’s  own  pru¬ 
dence  and  fenfe  of  duty;  ought  to  prevent  him 
from  doing  any  improper  thing,  as  effectually  as 
if  there  were  homebody  to  hinder  him. 

Bragwell.  Now  I  think  a  man  is  a  fool  who 
is  hindered  from  having  any  thing  he  has  a  mind' 
to  unlefs,  indeed,  he  is  . in  want  of  money  to  pay. 
for  it ;  I’m  no  friend  to  debt,.  A  poor,  man  muff 
want  on.  - 

Worthy.  But  I  hope  my  children  have  learnt 
not  to  want  any  thing  which,  is  not  proper  for 
them.  They  are  very  induftrious,  they  attend 
to  bufinefs  all  day;,  and  in  the  evening  they  fit 
*  down  to  their  work  and  a  good  book.  I  think, 
they  live  in  the  fear  of  God.  I  truff  ghey  are 
humble  and  pious,,  and  I  am  lure  they  feern 
cheerful  and  happy.  If  I  am  fick,  it  is  pleafant 
to  fee  them  difpute  which  fhall  wait  upon  me,  for 
they  fay  the  maid  cannot  do  it  fo  tenderly  as, 
themfelves.  — 

This  part  of  the  difeourfe  ftaggered  BragwelL 
Vain  as  he  was,  he  could  not  help  feeling  what  a 


iy6  The  Two  Wealthy  Fanners. 

difference  a  religious  and  a  worldly  education 
made  on  the  heart,  and  how  much  the  former 
regulated  even  the  natural  temper.  Another 
thing  which  furprifed  him  was,  that  thefe  girls, 
living  a  life  of  domeftic  piety,  without  any  public 
diversions,  fhould  be  fo  very  cheerful  and  happy  ; 
while  his  own  daughters,  who  were  never  con¬ 
tradicted,  and  were  indulged  with  continual 
amufements,  were  always  fullen  and  ill-tempered. 
That  they  who  are  more  humoured  fhould  be 
lefs  grateful  and  lefs  happy,  difturbed  ,  him 
much.  He  envied  Worthy  the  tendernefs  of  his 
children,  though  he  would  not  own  it,  but  turned 
it  off  thus. 

Bragwell.  But  my  girls  are  too  fmart  to  make 
mopes  of,  that  is  the  truth.  Though  ours  is 
fuch  a  lonelv  village,  his  wonderful  to  fee  how 
foon  they  get  the  fafhions.  What  with  the  cle- 
fcriptions  in  the  magazines,  and  the  pictures  in 
the  Pocket  Books,  they  have  them  in  a  twinkling, 
and  out-do  their  patterns  all  to  nothing.  I  ufed 
to  take  in  the  County  Journal,  becaufe  it  was 
ufeful  enough  to  fee  how  Oats  went,  the  time 
of  high  water,  and  the  price  of  Stocks.  But 
when  my  ladies  came  home  forfooth,  I  was  foon 
wheedled  out  of  that,  and  forced  to  take  a  Lon¬ 
don  paper,  that  tells  a  deal  about  caps  and  fea¬ 
thers,  and  all  the  trumpery  of  the  quality. 
When  I  want  to  know  what  Hops  are  a  bag,  they 
are  Hatching  the  paper  to  fee  what  violet  foap  is 
a  pound.  And  as  to  the  dairy,  they  never  care 
how  Cow’s  milk  goes,  as  long  as  they  can  get 
Lome  fluff  which  they  call  Milk  of  Rofes. 

Wor thy.  But  do  your  daughters  never  read  ? 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  137 

BragwelL  Read  !  I  believe  they  do  too.  Why 
our  Jack,  the  PIcugh-boy,  fpends  half  his  time  in 
going  to  a  Ihop  in  our  Market  town,  where  they 
let  out  books  to  read  with  marble  covers.  And 
they  fell  paper  with  all  manner  of  colours  on  the 
edges,  and  gim-craeks,  and  powder-puffs,  and 
waih-balls,  and  cards  without  any  pips,  and 
every  thing  in  the  world  that’s  genteel  and  ot  no 
ufe.  5Twa$  but  t’other  day  I  met  Jack  with  a 
bafket  full  of  thefe  books,  fo  having  fome  time 
to  fpare,  I  fat  down  to  fee  a  little  what  they  were 
about. 

Worthy.  Well,  I  hope  you  there  found  what 
was  likely  to  improve  your  daughters,  and  teach 
them  the  true  ufe  of  time. 

BragwelL  O  as  to  that,  you  are  pretty  much 
out.  I  could  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  it 
It  was  neither  fifh,.  flefh,  nor  good  red-herring. 
It  was  all  about  my  Lord,  and  Sir  Harry,  and 
the  Captain.  But  I  never  met  with  fuch  non- 
lenfical  fellows  in  my  life.  Their  talk  was  no 
more  like  that  of  my  old  landlord,  who  was  a 
Lord  you  know,  nor  the  Captain  of  our  fenci- 
bles,  than  chalk  is  like  cheefe.  I  was  fairly 
taken  in  at  firft,  and  began  to  think  I  had  got 
hold  of  a  godly  book,  for  there  was  a  deal  about 
hope  and  defpair,  and  Heaven,  and  Angels,  and 
torments,  and  everlafiing  happinefs.  But  when 
I  got  a  little  on,  I  found  there  was  no  meaning 
in  all  thefe  words,  or,  if  any,  *twas  a  bad  mean¬ 
ing.  Mifery,  perhaps,  only  meant  a  difappoint- 
ment  about  a  bit  of  a  letter  :  and  everlafting  hap¬ 
pinefs  meant  two  people  talking  norifenfe  toge¬ 
ther  five  minutes.  In  ftiort,  I  never  met  with 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers, 

/  -* 

iuch  a  pack  of  lies.  The  people  talk  fueh  gib- 
berirti  as  no  folks  in  their  fober  fenfes  ever  did 
talk ;  and  the  things  that  happen  to  them  are 
not  like  the  things  that  ever  happen  to  any  of  my 
acquaintance.  They  are  at  home  one  minute,  and 
beyond  fea  the  next.  Beggars  to-day,  and  Lords 
to-morrow.  W airing  maids  in  the  morning, 
and  Dutchefles  at  night.  You  and  I,  mailer 
Worthy,  have  worked  hard  many  years,  and 
think  it  very  well  to  have  feraped  a  trifle  of 
money  together,  you  a  few  hundreds,  I  fuppofe, 
and  I  a  few  thoufands.  But  one  would  think 
every  man  in  thefe  books  had  the  Bank  of  Eng¬ 
land  in  his  fcrutoire.  Then  there’s  another  thing 
which  I  never  met  with  in  true  life.  We  think 
it  pretty  well,  you  know,  if  one  has  got  one 
thing,  and  another  has  got  another.  I’ll  tell  you 
how  I  mean.  You  are  reckoned  fenflble,  our 
Parfonis  learned,  the  Squire  is  rich,  I  am  rather 
generous,  one  of  your  daughters  is  pretty,  and 
Doth  mine  are  genteel.  But  in  thefe  books  (ex¬ 
cept  here  and  there  one,  whom  they  make  worfe 
than  Satan  himfelf)  every  man  and  woman’s  child 
of  them,  are  all  wife,  and  witty,  and  generous, 
and  rich,  and  handfome,  and  genteel ;  and  ail  to 
the  lad  degree.  Nobody  is  middling,  or  good 
in  one  thing,  and  bad  in  another,  like  my  live 
acquaintance ;  but  his  all  up  to  the  Ikies,  or 
down  to  the  dirt.  I  had  rather  read  Tom  Hicka- 
thrifr,  or  Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  a  thousand 
times. 

J Worthy.  You  have  found  out  Mr.  Bragwell, 
that  many  of  thefe  books  are  ridiculous s  I  will 
go  farther,  and  fay,,  that  to  me  they  appear 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  139 

wicked  alfo.  And  X'fhould  account  the  reading  v 
of  them  a  great  mifchief,  efpecially  to  people  in 
middling  and  low  life,  if  I  only  took  into  the  ac¬ 
count  the  great  lofs  of  time  fuch  reading  caufes, 
and  the  averfion  it  leaves  behind  for  what  is 
more  ferious  and  folid.  But  this,  though  a  bad 
part,  is  not  the  word:.  Thefe  books  give  fake 
views  of  human  life.  They  teach  a  contempt 
for  humble  and  do  me  Ode  duties ;  for  induftry, 
frugality,  and  retirement.  Want  of  youth  and 
beauty  is  confxdered  in  them  as  ridiculous.  Plain 
people,  like  you  and  me,  are  objedls  of  con¬ 
tempt.  Parental  authority  is  fet  at  nought. — 
Nay,  plots  and  contrivances  againfl  parents,  and 
guardians,  fill  half  the  volumes.  Theyconhder 
love  as  the  great  bufinefs  of  human  life,  and 
even  teach  that  it  is  impoffible  to  be  regulated  . 
or  retrained,  and  to  the  indulgence  of  this  paf- 
fion  every  duty  is  therefore  facrificed.  A  coun¬ 
try  life,  with  a  kind  mother,  or  a  fober  aunt,  is 
deferibed  as  a  {late  of  intolerable  mifery.  And 
one  would  be  apt  to  fancy,  from  their  painting, 
that  a  good  country  houfe  is  a  prifon,  and  a 
worthy  father  the  gaoler.  Vice  is  fet  off  with 
every  ornament  which  can  make  it  pleafing  and 
amiable  ;  while  virtue  and  piety  are  made  ridi¬ 
culous  by  tacking  to  them  lomething  that  is  filly, 
or  abfurd.  Crimes,  which  would  be  confiderecl 
as  hanging  matter  at  the  Old  Bailey,  are  here 
made  to  take  the  appearance  of  virtue,  by  being 
mixed  with  forae  wild  flight  of  unnatural  gene- 
rofity.  Thofe  crying  fins,  Adultery,  Gam¬ 
ing,  Duels,  and  Self-Murder,  are  made  fo 
familiar,  and  the  wickednefs  of  them  is  fo  difc 


F;4-0  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 

c 

guifed,  that  even  innocent  girls  get  to  lofe  their 
abhorrence,  and  to  talk  with  complacency  of 
things  which  jhouid  not  he  Jo  much  as  named  by 
them . 

I  fhould  not  have  faid  fo  much  on  this  mif- 
chief  (continued  Mr.  Worthy,)  from  which  I 
dare  fay,  great  folks  fancy  people  in  our  flat  ion 
are  fare  enough,  if  I  did  not  know,  and  lament, 
that  this  corrupt  reading  is  now  got  down  even 
among  feme  of  the  lowed  clafs.  -And  it  is  an 
evil  which  is  fpreading  every  day.  Poor  indus¬ 
trious  girls,  who  get  their  bread  by  the  needle,  or 
the  loom,  ipend  half  the  night  in  lidening  to 
thefe  books.  Thus  the  labour  of  one  girl  is  lod, 
and  the  minds  of  the  red  are  corrupted ;  for 
though  their  hands  are  employed  in  jioneft  indus¬ 
try,  which  might  help  to  preferve  them  from  a 
life  of  fin,  yet  their  hearts  are  at  that  very  time 
polluted  by  feenes  and  deferiptions  which  are  too 
likely  to  plunge  them  into  it.  And  I  think  I 
don’t  go  too  far,  when  I  fayr  that  the  vain  and 
jfhewy  manner  in  which  young  women  who  have 
to  work  for  their  bread,  have  taken  to  drefs 
themfelves,  added  to  the  poifon  they  draw  from 
thefe  books,  contribute  together  to  bring  them  to 
deftrudtion,  more  than  almoft  any  other  caufe. 
Now  tell  me,  don’t  you  think  thefe  vile  books 
will  hurt  vour  daughters  ? 

Bragwell.  Why  I  do  think  they  are  grown 
full  of  fchemes  and  contrivances  and  whifpers, 
that’s  the  truth  on’t.  Every  thing  is  a  Secret. 
They  always  feem  to  be  on  the  look-out  for 
fomething,  and  when  nothing  comes  on’c,  then 
they  are  fulky  and  difappointed.  They  vail  not 


llw  Two  Wealthy  Farmers.  141 

"keep  company  with  their  equals.  They  defpife  . 
trade  and  farming,  and,  I  own,  I'm  for  the  fluff. 

I  (hould  not  like  for  them  to  marry  any  but  a 
man  of  fubftance,  if  he  wras  ever  fo  fmart.  Now 
they  will  hardly  fit  down  with  a  fubftantial  coun¬ 
try  dealer.  But  if  they  hear  of  a  recruiting  party 
in  our  Market  Town,  on  goes  the  finery — off  they 
are.  Some  flimfy  excufe  is  patched  up.  They 
want  fomething  at  the  book  fhop,  or  the  mille- 
ner’s,  becauf \,  I  fuppofe,  there  is  a  chance  that 
fome  Jack- a- napes  of  an  Enfign  may  be  there 
buying  flicking-plaifter.  In  fhort  I  do  grow  a 
little  uneafy,  for  I  fhould  not  like  to  fee  all  I  have 
laved  thrown  away  on  a  knapfack. 

So  faying  they  both  rofe,  and  walked  out  to 
view  the  farm.  Mr.  Bragwell  affedted  greatly 
to  admire  the  good  order  of  every  thing  he  faw ; 
but  never  forgot  to  compare  it  with  fomething 
larger  and  handfomer  or  better  of  his  own.  It 
was  eafy  to  fee  that  felf  was  his  flandard  of  per¬ 
fection  in  every  thing.  All  he  poffelfed  gained 
fome  increafed  value  in  his  eyes  from  being  his 5 
and  in  furveying  the  property  of  his  friend,  he 
derived  food  for  his  vanity,  from  things  which 
fe'emed  leaft  likely  to  raife  it.  Every  appear¬ 
ance  of  comfort,  of  fuccefs,  of  merit,  in  any  thing 
which  belonged  to  Mr.  Worthy,  led  him  to  fpeak 
of  fome  fuperior  advantage  of  his  own,  of  the 
fame  kind.  And  it  was  clear  that  the  chief  part 
cf  the  latisfadlion  he  felt  in  walking  over  the  farm 
of  his  friend,  was  caufed  by  thinking  how  much 
larger  his  own  was. 

Mr.  Worthy  who  felt  a  kindnefs  for  him,  which 
all  his  vanity  could  not  cure,  was  on  the  watch 

/ 


i 


*4 ‘2  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 

how  to  turn  their  talk  to  fome  ufeful  point.  And 
whenever  people  refolve  to  go  into  company  with 
this  view,  it  is  commonly  their  own  fault  if  fome 
opportunity  of  turning  it  to  account  does  not 
offer. 

He  faw  Bragweil  was  intoxicated  with  pride, 
and  undone  by  profperity,  and  that  his  family 
was  in  the>  high  road  to  ruin.  He  thought  that 
if  fome  means  could  be  found  to  open  his  eyes 
on  his  own  character,  to  which  he  was  now  totally 
blind,  it  might  be  of  the  utmoft  fervice  to  him. 
The  more  Mr.  W, orthy  reflected,  the  more  he 
wifhed  to  undertake  this  kind  office.  He  was 
not  fare  that  Mr.  Bragweil  would  bear  it,  but  he 
was  very  fare  it  was  his  duty  to  attempt  it.  Mr. 
Worthy  was  very  humble,  and  very  candid,  and 
he  had  great  patience  and  forbearance  with  the 
faults  of  others.  He  felt  no  pride  at  having  ' 
efcaped  the  fame  errors  himfcif,  for  he  knew  who 
it  was  Fid  made  them  to  differ.  He  remembered 
that  God  had  given  him  many  advantages,  a 
pious  father,  with  a  religious  education  ;  this 
made  him  humble  under  a  ffinfe  of  his  own  fins, 
and  charitable  towards  the  fins  of  others,  who  had 
not  the  fame  privileges. 

Judas  he  was  going  to  try  to  enter  into  a  very 
ferious  converfation  with  his  gued,  he  was  dopped 
by  the  appearance  of  his  daughter,  who  told  them 
kipper  wras  ready. — This  interruption  obliges  me 
to  break  off  alfo,  and  i  fhali  refer ve  what  follows 
to  the  next  month,  when  I  promife  to  give  my 
readers  the  fecond  Fart  of  this  Hiftory. 


PART  II. 


My  readers  may  remember  that  the  firft  part 
of  this  hiftory  concluded  with  a  walk  taken  by 
Mr.  Bragwell  and  Mr.  Worthy  over  the  grounds 
of  the  latter,  in  which  walk  Mr.  Bragwell, 
though  he  feemed  to  admire,  took  care  to  lower 
-every  thing  he  faw,  by  comparing  it  with  fiome- 
thing  ^better  which  he  had  of  his  own,  Soon 
after  iupper  Mrs.  Worthy  left  the  room  with  her 
daughters,  at  her  hufband’s  defire  ;  for  it  was  his 
intention  to  fpeak  more  plainly  to  Bragwell  than 
was  likely  to  be  agreeable  to  him  to  hear  before 
others. 

The  two  farmers  being  feated  at  their  little  ta¬ 
ble,  each  in  a  handfome  old-fa fhioned  great  chair. 
Bragwell  began. 

It  is  a  great  comfort,  neighbour  Worthy,  at  a 
certain  time  of  life,  to  be  got  above  the  world  : 
my  notion  is,  that  a  man  fhould  labour  hard  the 
dr  ft  part  of  his  days,  and  that  he  may  then  fit 
down  and  enjoy  himfelf  for  the  remainder.  Now 
though  I  hate  boafting,  yet  as  you  are  my  oldeft 
friend,  I  am  about  to  open  my  heart  to  you.  Let 
me  tell  you  then,  I  reckon  I  have  worked  as  hard 
as  any  man  in  my  time,  and  that  I  now  begin  to 
think  I  have  a  right  to  indulge  a  little.  1  have 
got  my  money  with  a  good  character,  and  I  mean 
to  fpend  it  with  credit.  I  pay  every  one  his  own, 
I  fet  a  good  example,  I  keep  to  my  church,  I 
ferve  God,  I  honour  the  king,  and  I  obey  the 
laws  of  the  land.  i  - 


-  s  I 


* 


3  44  7&?  Two  Wealthy  Farmers, 

This  is  doing  a  great  deal  indeed,  replied  Mr* 
Worthy  ;  but,  added  he,  I  doubt  that  more  goes 
to  the  making  up  all  thefe  duties  than  men  are 
commonly  aware  of.  Suppofe  then  that  you 
and  I  talk  the  matter  over  coolly,  we  have  the 
evening  before  us.  What  if  we  fit  down 
together  as  two  friends,  and  examine  one  an¬ 
other. 

Bragwell,  who  loved  argument,  and  who  was 
not  a  little  vain  both  of  his  fenfe  and  his  mora¬ 
lity,  accepted  the  challenge,  and  gave  his  word 
that  he  would  take  in  good  part  any  thing  that 
ihould  be  faid  to  him.  Worthy  was  about  to 
proceed  when  Bragwell  interrupted  him  for  a 
moment,  by  faying, — But  flop,  friend,  before 
we  begin  I  wifh  you  would  remember  that  we 
have  had  a  long  w'alk,  and  I  want  a  little  refrefh- 
inent :  have  you  no  liquor  that  is  fironger  than 
this  cyder  ?  I  am  afraid  it  will  give  me  a  fit  of 
the  gout. 

Mr.  Worthy  immediately  produced  a  bottle  of 
wine,  and  another  of  fpirits,  faying,  that  though 
he  drank  neither  fpirits,  nor  even  wine  himfelf, 
yet  his  wife  always  kept  a  little  of  each  as  a  pro- 
vifion  in  cafe  of  ficknefs  or  accidents. 

Farmer  Bragwell  preferred  the  brandy,  and 
began  to  tafte  it.  Why,  faid  he,  this  is  no  better 
than  Englifh ;  I  always  ufe  foreign  mylelf.  I 
bought  this  for  foreign,  faid  Mr.  Worthy.  No, 
no,  it  is  Englifh  fpirits,  1  allure  you,  but  I  can 
put  you  into  a  way  to  get  foreign  nearly  as  cheap 
as  Englifh.  Mr.  Worthy  replied,  that  he  thought 
that  was  impoffible. 

Bragwell .  O  no,  there  are  ways  and  means— 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 


*45 


a  word  to  the  wife — there  is  an  acquaintance  of 
mine  that  lives  upon  the  fouth  coafl — you  are  a 
particular  friend,  and  I  will  get  you  a  gallon  for 
a  trifle. 

1  For  thy.  Not  if  it  be  fmuggled,  Mr.  Bragwell, 
though  I  fhould  get  it  for  fix-pence  a  bottle. — 
Afk  no  queflions,  faid  the  other,  I  never  fay  any 
thing  to  any  one,  and  who  is  the  wifer  ? — And  fo 
this  is  your  way  of  obeying  the  laws  of  the  land, 
faid  Mr.  Worthy, — here  is  a  fine  fpecimen  of 
your  morality. 

Bragwell.  Come,  come,  don't  make  a  fufs 
about  trifles.  If  every  one  did  it  indeed  it  would 
be  another  thing,  but  as  to  my  getting  a  drop  of 
good  brandy  cheap,  why  that  can’t  hurt  the  re¬ 
venue  much. 

Worthy.  Pray,  Mr.  Bragwell,  what  fhould  you 
think  of  a  man  who  would  dip  his  hand  into  a 
bag  and  take  out  a  few  guineas  ? 

Bragwell.  Think  !  why  I  think -that  he  fhould 
be  hanged,  to  be  fure. 

f  'For thy.  But  fuppofe  that  bag  flood  in  the 
king's  treafury  ? 

_  Bragwell.  In  the  king's  treafury  !  worfe  and 
worie  !  What,  rob  the  king’s  treafury  !  Well,  I 
hope  the  robber  will  be  taken  up  and  executed, 
for  I  fuppofe  we  fhall  all  be  taxed  to  pay  the 
damage.  *  --  * 

Worthy.  Very  true.  If  one  man  takes  money 
out  of  the  treafury,  others  muft  be  obliged  to  pay 
the  more  into  it  j  but  what  think  you  if  the  fel¬ 
low  fhould  be  found  to  have  Hopped  fome  money 
■  i  *  FT  -  -  ■  ■  • 


"•v. 


D\ 


146  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

in  its  way  to  the  treafury,  inftead  of  raking  it  out 
of  the  bag  after  it  got  there  ? 

Bragwell,  Guilty/ Mr.  Worthy  ;  it  is  all  the 
fame,  in  my  opinion.  If  I  was  a  juryman,  I  fhould 
fay  guilty,  death. 

Worthy .  Hark  ye,  Mr.  Bragwell,  he  that  deals 
in  fmuggled  brandy  is  the  man  who  takes  to 
himfelf  the  king’s  money  in  its  way  to  the  trea¬ 
fury,  and  he  as  much  robs  the  government  as 
If  he  dipt  his  hands  into  a  bag  of  guineas  in  the 
treafury  chamber.  It  comes  to  the  fame  thing 
exactly.  Here  Bragwell  ieemed  a  little  offended. 
- — What,  Mr.  Worthy,  do  you  pretend  to  lay  I 
am  not  an  honeft  man  becaufe  I  like  to  get  my 
brandy  as  cheap  as  I  can  ?  and  becaufe  I  like  to 
iave  a  fhilling  to  my  family  ?  Sir,  I  repeat  it,  I  do 
xny  duty  to  God  and  my  neighbour.  I  fay  the 
Lord’s  Prayer  moft  days,  I  go  to.  Church  on 
Sundays,  I  repeat  my  Creed,  and  keep  the  Ten 
Commandments,  and  though  I  may  now  and  then 
get  a  little  brandy  cheap,  yet,  upon  the  whole, 
I  will  venture  to  fay,  I  do  as  much  as  can  be 
expedted  of  any  man. 

Worthy .  Come  then,  fince  you  fay  you  keep 
the  commandments,  you  cannot  be  offended  iPt 
afk  you  whether  you  under  (land  them. 

Bragwell,  To  be  fu re  I  do.  I  dare  fay  Ido  : 
look’ee,  Mr.  Worthy,  I  don’t  pretend  to  much 
reading,  I  was  not  bred  to  it  as  you  were.  If 
my  father  had  been  a  parfon,  I  fancy  I  Ihould 
have  made  as  good  a  figure  as  fome  other  folks, 
but  I  hope  good  fenfe  and  a  good  he  art  may  teach 
a  man  his  duty  without  much  fcholarfhip. 


Two.  Wealthy  Farmers *  *47 

Worthy.  To  come  to  the  point  let  us  now  go 
through  the  Ten  Commandments,  and  let  us  take 
along  with  us  thofe  explanations  of  them  which 
our  Saviour  gave  us  in  his  fermon  on. the  mount. 

Bragwell .  Sermon  on  the  mount !  why  the 
Ten  Commandments  are  in  the  20th  chapter  of 
Exodus.  Come,  come,  Mr.  Worthy,  I  know 
where  to  find  the  commandments  as  well  as  you 
do,  for  it  happens  that  I  am  church-warden,  and 
I  can  lee  from  the  altar-piece  where  the  Ten  Com¬ 
mandments  are  without  your  telling  me,  for  mv 
pew  dire&ly  faces  it. 

IF rrthy .  But  I  advife  you  to  read  the  fermon 
on  the  mount,  that  you  mav  fee  the  full  meaning 
of  them.  '  0 

Bragwell.  W  hat  do  you  want  to  make  me 
believe  that  there  are  two  ways  of  keeping  the 
commandments  ? 

Worthy..  No;  but  .there  may  be  two  ways  of 
underdanding  them. 

Bragwell.  Well ;  I  am  not  afraid  to  be  put  to. 
dn^,  proof;  I  defy  any  man  to  lay  I  do  not  keep 
at  lead  all  the  four  fird  that  are  on  the  left  fide  of 
the  altar-piece. 

Worthy.  If  you  can  prove  that,  I  fhall  be 
more  ready  to  believe  you  oblerve  thole  of  the 
other  table ;  for  he  who  does  his  duty  to  God, 
will  be  likely  to  do  his  duty  to  his  ’  neighbour 

Bragwell  What!  do  you  think  that  I  ferve 
two  Gods  ?  Do  you  think  then  that  I  make  graven 
images,  and  worfhip  docks  or  dones  ?  Do  you 
take  me  for  a  Papid  or  an  Idolater  ? 

H  2 


14$  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers , 

»  * 

Worthy.  Don’t  triumph  quite  fo  loon,  matter 
Bragwell.  Pray  is  there  nothing  in  the  world  you 
prefer  to  God,  and  thus  make  an  idol  of?  Do 
you  not  love  your  money,  or  your  lands,  or  your 
crops,’  or  your  cattle,  or  your  own  will,  and  your 
own  way,  rather  better  than  you  love  God  ?  Do 
you  never  think  of  .thefe  with  more  pleafure  than 
you  think  of  Him,  and  follow  them  more  eagerly 
than  your  religious  dutyi1 

Bragwell.  O  there’s  nothing  about  that  in  the 
loth  Chapter  of  Exodus. 

Worthy.  But  Jefus  Chrift  has  faid,  <f  He  that 
loveth  father  or  mother  more  than  me  is  not 
worthy  of  me.”  Now  it  is  certainly  a  man’s 
duty  to  love  his  father  and  mother,  nay  it  would 
be  wicked  '-not  to  love  them,  and  yet  we  mutt 
not  love  even  thefe  more  than  our  Creator  and 
our  Saviour.  Well,  I  think  on  this  principle 
your  heart  pleads  guilty  to  the  breach  of  the  firft 
and  fecond  commandments,  let  us  proceed  to  the 
.third. 

Bragwell.  That  is  about  fvvearing,  is  it  not  ? 

Mr.  Worthy,  who  had  obferved  Bragwell 
guilty  of  much  profanenefs  in  ufmg  the  name  of 
his  Maker,  (though  all  fuch  offenfive  words  have 
been  avoided  in  writing  this  hiflory)  now  told  him 
that  he  had  been  waiting  the  whole  day  for  an  op¬ 
portunity  to  reprove  him  for  his  frequent  breach 
of  the  third  commandment. 

Good  L— d,  I  break  the  third  commandment, 
faid  Bragwell,  no  indeed  hardly  ever.  I  once 
ufed  to  jwear  a  little  to  be  lure,  but.  I  vow  to 
G — d  I  never  do  it  now,  except  now  and  then, 
when  1  happen  to  be  in  a  pattlon  :  and  in  fuch  a 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  3-4.9 

cafe,  why  good  G — d  you  know  die  fin  is  with 
thofe  who  provoke  me,  and  not  with  me  ;  but 
upon  my  foul  I  don’t  think  I  have  fworn  an  path 
thefe  three  months,  no  not  I,  faith,  as  I  hope  to 
be  faved. 

Worthy .  And  yet  yon  have  broken  this  holy 
law  no  lefs  than  five  or  fix  times  in  the  lad  fpeech 
you  have  made. 

,  BragwelL  Lord  blefs  me  !  Sure  you  miftakeV 
Good  heavens,  Mr.  Worthy,  I  call  G—d  to  wit- 
ncfs,  I  have  neither  curfed  nor  fworn  fince  I  have 
been  in  the  hpufe. 

Worthy .  Mr.  Brag  we  11,  this  is  the  wav  in 
which  many  who  call  themlelves  very  good  fort 
of  people  deceive  thcmfelves.  What  !  is  it  no 
profanation  of  the  name  of  God  to  ufe  it  lightly, 
irreverently,  and  familiarly,  as  you  have  done  ? 
Our  Saviour  has  not  only  told  us  not  to  fwear  by 
the  immediate  name  of  God,  but  he  has  faicl, 
ce  fwear  not  at  all,  neither  by -the  heaven  nor  by 
the  earth;”  and  in  order  to  prevent  our  inventing; 
any  other  irreligious  exclamations  or  ex.pre (lions* 
he  has  even  added,  “  but  let  your  communication 
be  yea,  yea,  and  nay,  nay,  for  whatfoever  is 
more  than  this  fimple  affirmation  and  denial 
cometh  of  evil.” 

BragwelL  Well,  well,  I  mud  take  a  little 
more  care  I  believe :  I  vow  to  heaven  I  did  not 
know  there  had  been  fo  much  harm  in  it ;  but 
my  daughters  feldom  fpeak  without  ufing  fome 
of  thefe  words,  and  yet  they  wanted  to  make  me 
believe  the  other  day  that  it  is  mondrous  vulgar 
to  fwear. 

h3 


‘  *  'S°  Fhe  Two  J Veal  thy  Farmers , 

Worthy.  Women,  even  gentlewomen,  who 
ought  to  correct  this  evil  habit  in  their  fathers, 
and  hu {bands,  and  children,  are  too  apt  to  en¬ 
tourage  it  by  their  own  pra&ice.  And  indeed 
they  betray  the  profanenefs  of  their  own  minds 
alio  by  it,  for  none,  who  truly  venerate  the  holy 
name  of  God,  can  either  profane  it  in  this  man¬ 
ner  themfelves,  or  hear  others  do  fo  without  be¬ 
ing  exceedingly,  pained  at  it. 

BragwelL  Weil,  fince  you  are  fo  hard  upon 
tne,  I  believe  I  muft  e’en  give  up  this  point— -fo 
let  us  pais  on  to  the  next,  and  here  I  tread  upon 
fure  giound,  for,  as  fharp  as  you  are  upon  me, 
you  can  t  accuie  me  of  being  a  fabbath-breaker, 
fince  I  go  to  Church  every  Sunday  of  my  life, 
unlefs  on  fome  very  extraordinary  occafion. 

Worthy .  For  thofe  occafions  the  gofpel  allows, 
by  faying,  “  the  Sabbath  was  made  for  man,  and 
not  man  for  the  Sabbath  ”  Our  own  ficknefs,  or 
attending  on  the  ficknefs  of  others,  are  lawful  im¬ 
pediments. 

BragwelL  Yes,  and  I  am  now  and  then 
obliged  to  look  at  a  drove  of  beads,  or  to  go  a 
journey,  or  to  take  fome  medicine,  or  perhaps 
fome  friend  may  call  upon  me,  or  it  may  be  very 
cold,  or  very  hot,  or  very  rainy. 

Worthy.  Poor  excufes,  Mr.  Bragwell;  lam 
afraid  thefe  will  not  pafs  on  the  day  of  judgment. 
But  how  is  the  reft  of  your  Sunday  fpent  ? 

BragwelL  O  why,  I  aftiire  you,  I  often  go  to 
Church  in  the  afternoon  alfo,  and  even  if  I  am 
ever  fo  fleepy. 

W or  thy.  And  fo  you  finifh  your  nap  at  Church, 

I  fuppofe. 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmer?.  15  ^ 


Bragwell.  Why  as  to  that,  to  be  fare  we  do 
contrive  to  have  fomething  a  little  nicer  than 
common  for  dinner  on  a  Sunday  ;  in  eonfequence 
of  which  one  eats,  you  know,  a  little  more  than 
ordinary  ;  and  having  nothing  to  do  on  that  day, 
one  has  more  leifure  to  take  a  cheerful  glafs  ;  and- 
all  thele  things  will  make  one  a  little  heavy,  you 
know. 

Worthy .  And  don’t  you  take  a  little  ride  In 
the  morning,  and  look  at  your  fbeep  when  the 
weather  is  good,  and  fo  fill  your  mind  juft  before 
you  go  to  Church  with  thoughts  of  them ,  and 
when  you  come  away  again  don’t  you  fettle  an  ac-^ 
count,  or  write  a  few  letters  of  behind s  l 

Bragwell.  I  can’t  fay  but  I  do,  but  that  is  no¬ 
thing  to  any  body,  as  long  as  I  let  a  good  exam¬ 
ple  by  keeping  to  my  Church. 

Worthy ,  And  how  do  you  pals  your  Sunday 


evenings  ? 

Bragwell  My  wife  and  daughters  go  a  vifit- 
ing  of"a  Sunday  afternoon.  My  daughters  are 
glad  to  get  out  at  any  rate,  and  as  to  my  wife, 
file  fays,  that  being  ready  dreffed  it  is  a  pity  to 
lofe  the  opportunity  ;  befides  it  faves  her  time 
on  a  week  day ,  fo  then  you  fee  I  have  it  all 
my  own  way,  and  when  I  have  got  rid  of  the 
ladies,  who  are  ready  to  faint  at  the  fmell  of 
tobacco,  I  can  venture  to  fmoak  a  pipe,  and 
drink  a  fober  glafs  of  punch  with  half  a  dozen 
friends. 

Worthy.  Which  punch  being  made  of  fmug- 
gled  brandy,  and  drank  on  the  Lord’s  day,  in 
very  vain,  as  well  as  profane  and  worldly  com- 


H  4 


1 5  2  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers'. 

pany,  you  are  enabled  to  break  both  the  law  of 
l*od,  and  that  of  your  country  at  a  ftroke  :  and  I 
iuppoie  when  you  are  got  together,  you  fpeak  of 
your  cattle,  or  of  your  crops,  -after  which  per, 
naps  you  talk  over  a  few  of  your  neighbours’ 
faults,  and  then  you -brag  a  little  6f. your  own 
we  a]  tn,  or  your  own  achievements. 

Fragwetl.  Why  you  feem  to  know  us  io  well, 
mat  'any  one  would  think  you  had  been  fitting 
behind  tne  curtain,  and  yet  you  are -.a  little  mif- 
taisen  too,  for  I  think  we  have  hardly  faid  a  word 

for  feveral  of  our  laft  Sundays  on  any  thing  but 
politics.  •  ° 

Worthy.  And  do  you  find  that  -you  much  ini- 
prove  your  Chriftian  charity  by  that  fubjedt  ? 

Brag-well.  Why  to  be  fure  we  do  quarrel  ’till 
we^are  very  near  fighting,  that  is  the  word  on’t. 

Worthy.  And  then  you  call  names,  and  fwear 
&  jittle  I  fuppofe. 

•  Brag  well.  Why-when  one  is  contracted  and 

put  in  a  paffion  you  know,  flefti  and  blood  .can’t  * 
bear  it. 

If  or  thy.  And  when  all  your  friends  are  gone 
home,  what  becomes  of  the  reft  of  the  evening  ? 

Bragwell.  That  is  juft  as  it  happens,  fome- 
times  I  read  the  newfpaper ;  and  as  one  is  gene¬ 
rally  moft  tired  on  the  days  one  does  nothing,  I 
go  to  bed  earlier  than  on  other  days,  that  I  may 

be  more  fit  to  get  up  to  my  bufinefs  the  nm 
morning. 

Worthy .  So  you  fhorten  Sunday  as  much  as 
you  can,  by  cutting  off  a  bit  at.  both  ends,  I  fup¬ 
pofe  ;  for  I  take  it  fo;  granted,  you  lie  a  little  later 
in  the  morning. 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers *  153. 

BragwelL  Come,  come.  We  fhan’t  get 
through  the  whole  ten  to  night  if  you  (land  fnub-. 
bing  one  at  this  rate.  You  may  pafs  over  the 
fifth,  for  my  father  and  mother  have  been  dead 
fince  I  was  a  boy,  fo  I  am  clear  of  that  fcrape. 

‘  Worthy.  There  are,  however,  many  relative 
duties  in  that  commandment  ;  unkindnefs.  to  all 
kindred  is  forbidden. 

BragwelL  O,  if  you  mean  my  turning  off  my 
nephew  Tom,  the  plowboy,  you  mufi  not  blame 
me  for  that,  it  was  all  my  wife’s  fault.  He  was 
as  good  a  lad  as  ever  lived,  to  be  fure,  and  my; 
own  brother’s  fon,  but  my  wife  could  not  bear 
that  a  boy  in  a  carter’s  frock  fhould  be  about  the 
houfe,  calling  her  aunt.  We  quarreled  like  dog 
and  cat  about  it $  and  when  he  was  turned  away 
we  did  not  fpeak  for  a  week. 

Worthy.  Which  was  a  frefh  breach  of  the 
commandment ;  a  worthy  nephew  turned  out  of 
doors,  and  a  wife  not  fpoken  to  for  a  week,  are 
♦  no  very  convincing  proofs  of -your  obfervance  of 
the  fifth  commandment. 

BragwelL  Well,  I  long  to  come  to  the  fixth, 
for  you  don’t  think  I  commit  murder,  I  hope». 

Worthy .  I  am  not  fure  of  that. 

BragwelL  What,  kill  any  body  l: 

Worthy.  Why  the  laws  of  the  land  indeed*, 
and  the  difgrace  attending  it,  are  almoft  enough 
to  keep  any  man  from  actual murder  ;  let  me  afk,v 
however,  do  you  never  give  way  to  unjuft  anger,, 
and  paffion,  and  revenge  ?  as  for  inftance,  do  you 
never  feel  your  refentment  kindle  againft  fome  of 
the  politicians  who  contradict  you  on  a  Sunday 


*54  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers* 

night  ?  and  do  you  never  pufli  your  animofity 
againft  fomebody  that  has  affronted  you,  further 
than  the  occafion  will  juftify  ? 

Bragwell.  Hark’ee,  Mr.  Worthy,  I  am  a  man 
of  fubitance,  and  nobody  fhall  offend  me  with¬ 
out  my  being  even  with  him.  So  as  to  injuring 
a  man,  if  he  affronts  me  firft,  there's  nothing  but 
good  reafon  in  that. 

Worthy.  Very  well  !  only  bear  in  mind  that 
you  wilfully  break  this  commandment,  whether 
ybu  abufe  your  fervant,  are  angry  at  your  wife, 
watch  for  a  moment  to  revenge  an  injury  on  your 
neighbour,  or  even  wreak  your  pafiion  on  a  harm- 
iefs  bead: ;  for  you  have  then  the  feeds  of  mur¬ 
der  working  in  your  bread:;  and  if  there  were 
no  law,  no  gibbet  to  check  you,  and  no  fear  of 
difgrace  neither,  I  am  not  fure  where  you  would 
Hop. 

Bragwell.  Why,  Mr.  Worthy,  you  have  a 
ftrange  way  of  explaining  the  commandments  1 
fo  you  fet  me  down  for  a  murderer,  merely 
becaufe  I  bear  hatred  to  a  man  who  has  done 
me  a  hurt,  and  am  glad  to  do  him  a  like  injury 
hi  my  turn. — I  am  fure  1  fhould  want  fpirit  if  I 
did  not. 

Worthy .  1  go  by  the  fcripture  rule,  which 

fays,  “  he  that  hateth  his  brother  is  a  murderer," 
and  again,  love  your  enemies,  blefs  them  that 
curfe  you,  and  pray  for  them  that  defpitefully  ufe 
you  and  perfecute  you."  Befides,  Mr.  Bragwell, 
you  made  it  a  part  of  your  boad:  that  you  faid  the 
Lord's  Prayer  every  day,  wherein  you  pray  to 
God  to  forgive  you  your  trefpaffes  as  you  forgive 
them  that  trefpafs  againft  you. — If  therefore  you 

4 


I*' 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  155 

do  not  forgive  them  that  trefpafs  againft  you,  in 
that  cafe,  you  pray  daily  that  your  own  trelpafles 
may  never  be  forgiven. 

Bragwell.  ■  Well,  come  let  us  make  hafte  and 
get  through  thefe  commandments.  The  next  is, 
“  Thou  fhalt  not  commit  adultery, ”  thank  God 
neither  I  nor  my  family  can  be  faid  to  break  the 
feventh  commandment. 

Worthy.  Here  again,  remember  how  Chrift 
himfelf  hath  faid,  c<  whofo  looketh  on  a  woman 
to  lull  after  her,  hath  already  committed  adul¬ 
tery  with  her  in  his  heart/’  Thefe  are  no  far¬ 
fetched  exprefiions  of  mine,  Mr.  Bragwell,  they 
'are  the  words  of  Jefus  Chrift.  I  hope  you  will 
not  charge  him  with  having,  carried  things  too 
far,  for  if  you  do,  you  charge  him  with  being 
miftaken  in  the  religion  he  taught,  and  this  can 
only  be  accounted  for,  by  fuppofmg  him  an  im- 
poftor.  / 

Bragwell .  Why,  upon  my  word,  Mr.  Wor¬ 
thy,  I  don’t  like  thefe  fayings  of  his,  which  you 
quote  upon  me  fo  often,  and  that  is  the  truth  of 
it,  and  I  can’t  fay  I  feel  much  difpofedto  believe 
them.  ,  :  • 

Worthy.  I  hope  you  believe  in  Jefus  Chrift. 
1  hope  you  believe  that  creed  of  yours,  which  you 
alfo  boafted  of  your  repeating  fo  regularly. 

Bragwell.  Well,  well.  I’ll  believe  any  thing 
you  fay  rather  than  ftand  quarrelling  with  you. 

Worthy .  I  hope  .then,  you  will  ajlow  that 
fince  it  is  committing  adultery  to  .look  at  a  wo¬ 
man  with  even  an  irregular  thought,  it  follows 
from  the  fame  rule,  that  all  immodeft  drefs  in 

H  6 


'■  1 56  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 

your  daughters,  or  indecent  jeds  and  double  mean¬ 
ings  in  yourfelf ;  all  loofe  longs'  or  novels ;  and 
all  diverfions  alfo  which  have  a  like  dangerous 
tendency,  are  forbidden  by  the  feventh  com¬ 
mandment  ;  for  it  is  mod  plain  from  what  Chrift 
has  laid,  that  it  takes  in  not  only  the  a6t  but  the 
inclination,  the  defire,  the  indulged  imagination ; 
the  a6t  is  only  the  lad  and  highed  degree  of  any 
fin,  the  topmod  round  as  it  were  of  a  ladder,  to 
which  all  the  lower  rounds  are  only  as  fo  many 
deps  and  dages. 

Bragwell.  Stridb  indeed,  Mr.  Worthy,  but 
let  us  go  on  to  the  next;  you  won’t  pretend  to 
fay  I fteal .  Mr.  Bragwell,  I  trud,  was  never 
known  to  rob  on  the  highway,  to  break  open  his 
neighbour’s  houfe,  or  to  ufe  falfe  weights  or  mea- 
fures. 

Worthy.  No,  nor  have  you  ever  been  under 
any  temptation  to  do  it,  and  yet  there  are  a  thou- 
fand  ways  of  breaking  the  eighth  command¬ 
ment  befides  adhial  dealing ;  for  indance,  do  you 
never  hide  the  faults  of  the  goods  you  fell,  and 
heighten  the  faults  of  thofe  you  buy  ?  Do  you 
never  take  advantage  of  an  ignorant  dealer,  and 
afk  more  for  a  thing  than  it  is  worth  ?  Do  you 
never  turn  the  didreded  circumdances  of  a  man, 
who  has  fomething  to  fell,  to  your  own  unfair 
benefit,  and  thus  a£t  as  unjudly  by  him  as  if  you 
had  dolen  ?  Do  you  never  cut  off  a  fhilling  from 
a  workman’s  wages,  under  a  pretence  which 
your  confcience  can’t  judify  ?  Do  you  never  pafs 
off  an  unfound  horfe,  for  a  found  one  ?  Do  you 
never  conceal  the  real  rent  of  your  edate  from  the 

9 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  157 

overfee  rs,  and  thereby  rob  the  poor-rates  of  their 
legal  due  ? 

•  BragwelL  Pooh  ! '  thefe  things  are  done  every 
day.  I  fhan’t  go  to  fet  up  for  being  better  than 
my  neighbours  in  thefe  fort  of  things  ;  thefe  little 
matters  will  pafs  mufter. — I  don’t  fet  up  for  a 
reformer. — If  I  am  as  good  as  the  reft  of  my 
neighbours,  no  man  can  call  me  to  account  j 
Pm  not  worfe,  I  truft,  and  I  don’t  pretend  to  be 
better. 

,  JVorthy .  You  muft  be  tried  hereafter  at  the 
bar  of  God,  and  not  by  a  jury  of  your  fellow- 
creatures  ;  and  the  fcriptures  are  given  us,  in  or¬ 
der  to  fhew  by  what  rule  we  fhall  be  judged. 
How  many  or  how  few  do  as  you  do,  is  quite 
aftde  from  the  queftion  ;  Jefus  Chrift  has  even 
told  us  to  drive  to  enter  in  at  the  ft r ait  gate,  fo 
that  we  ought  rather  to  take  fright,  from  our  be¬ 
ing  like  the  common  run  of  people,  than  to  take 
comfort  from  our  being  fo. 

BragwelL  Come,  I  don’t  like  all  this  clofe 
work — it  makes  a  man  feel  I  don’t  know  how — I 
don’t  find  myfelf  fo  happy  as  I  did — I  don’t  like 
this  fifliing  in  troubled  waters — I’m  as  merry  as  a 
grig  when  I  let  thefe  things  alone — I’m  glad  we 
are  got  to  the  ninth.  But  1  fuppofe  I  Ihall  be 
lugged  in  there  too,  head  and  fhoulders.  Any 
one  who  did  not  know  me,  would  really  think  I 
was  a  great  ftnner,  by  your  way  of  putting  things  $ 
I  don’t  bear  falfe  witnefs  however. 

Worthy .  You  mean,  I  fuppofe,  you  would 
not  fwear  a  man’s  life  away  falfely  before  a  ma~ 
giftrate,  but  do  you  take  equal  care  not  to  Hander 
or  backbite  him  ?  Do  you  never  reprefent  a 


158  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 

good  adion  of  a  man  you  have  quarrelled  with  as 
if  it  were  a  bad  one  ?  or  do  you  never  make  a 
bad  one  worfe  than  it  is,  by  your  manner  of  telling 
it  ?  even  when  you  invent  no  falfe  circumftance, 
do  you  never  give  fuch  a  colour,  to  thofe  you  re¬ 
late,  as  to  leave  a  falfe  imprefilon  on  the  mind  of 
the  hearers  ?  Do  you  never  twill  a  flory  fo  as  to 
make  it  tell  a  little  better  for  yourfelf,  and  a  little 
worfe  for  your  neighbour,  than  truth  and  juftice 
warrant  ? 

Bragwell.  Why,  as  to  that  matter,  all  this  is 
only  natural. 

I  For  thy.  Aye,  much  too  natural  to  be  right,  I 
doubt.  Well,  now  we  are  got  to  the  laft  of  the 
commandments. 

Bragwell.  Yes,  I  have  run  the  gauntlet  finely 
through  them  all ;  you  will  bring  me  in  guilty 
here,  I  fuppofe,  for  the  pleafure  of  going  through 
with  it,  for  you  condemn  without  judge  or  jury, 
mailer  Worthy. 

Worthy.  The  culprit,  I  think,  has  hitherto 
pleaded  guilty  to  the  evidence  brought  againft 
him.  The  tenth  commandment,  however,  goes 
to  the  root  and  principle  of  evil,  it  dives  to  the 
bottom  of  things ;  this  command  checks  the  firft 
rifingof  fin  in  the  heart,  teaches  us  to  ftrangle  it 
in  the  birth,  as  it  were,  before  it  breaks  out  in 
thofe  ads  which  are  forbidden ;  as  for  inllance, 
every  man  covets  before  he  proceeds  to  Ileal,  nay, 
many  covet  who  dare  not  fteal,  left  they  ftiould 
fuffer  for  it. 

Bragwell.  Why,  lookee,  Mr.  Worthy,  I  don’t 
Underhand  thefe  new-fafhioned  explanations ;  one 
ftiould  not  have  a  grain  of  Iheer  goodnefs  left,  if 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 

every  thing  one  does  is  to  be  frittered  away  at 
this  rate  ;  I  am  not,  I  own,  quite  fo  good  as  I 
thought^  but  if  what  you  fay  were  true,  I  fhould 
be  fo  piiferable,  I  fhould  not  know  what  to  do 
with  inyfelf.  Why,  I  tell  you,  all  the  world 
may  be  faid  to  break  the  commandments  at  this 
rate* 

Worthy .  Very  true.  All  the  world,  and  I 
myfelf  alfo,  are  but  too  apt  to  break  them,  if 
not  in  the  letter,  at  lead  in  the  fpirit  of  them. 
Why  then  all  the  world  are  (as  the  Scripture 
exprefles  it)  “  guilty  before  God.”  And  if 
guilty,  they  fhould  own  they  are  guilty,  and  not 
fland  up  and  juflify  themfelves  as  you  do,  Mr, 
Bragwell. 

Bragwell,  Well,  according  to  my  notion,  I 
am  a  very  honefl  man,  and  honefly  is  the  fum  and 
fubflance  of  all  religion,  fay  I. 

.  Worthy .  All  truth,  honefly,  juflice,  order,  and 
obedience,  grow  out  of  the  chriflian  religion. 
The  true  chriflian  a&s,  at  all  times,  and  on  all 
occafions,  from  the  pure  and  fpiritual  principle 
of  love  to  God ;  on  this  principle,  he  is  upright 
in  his  dealings,  true  to  his  word,  kind  to  the 
poor,  helpful  to  the  oppreffed.  In  fhort,  if  he 
truly  loves  God,  he  mull  do  juflice,  and  can't 
help  loving  mercy.  Chriflianity  is  a  uniform  con¬ 
fident  thing.  It  does  not  allow  us  to  make  up  for 
the  breach  of  one  part  of  God's  law,  by  our 
flridlnefs  in  obferving  another.  There  is  no 
fponge  in  one  duty,  that  can  wipe  out  the  fpot  of 
another  fin. 

Bragwell. .  Well,  but  at  this  rate,  I  fhould  be 
always  puzzling  and  blundering,  and  fhould  never 


i  Go  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 

know  for  certain  whether  I  was  right  or  not, 
whereas  I  am  now  quite  fatisfied  with  myfelf,  and 
have  no  doubts  to  torment  me. 

Worthy .  One  way  of  knowing  whether  we 
realiy  defire  to  obey  the  whole  law  of  God  is 
this ;  when  we  find  we  have  as  great  a  regard  to 
that  part  of  it,  the  breach  of  which  does  not  touch 
our  own  intereft,  as  to  that  part  which  does.  For 
inflance,  a  man  robs  me ;  I  am  in  a  violent  paf- 
fion  with  him,  and  when  it  is  faid  to  me,  Doeft 
thou  well  to  be  angry  ? I  anfwer,  I  do  well.  Thou 
jhdt  net  fteal ,  is  a  lav/  of  God,  and  this  fellow  has 
broken  that  law.  Aye,  but  fays  confcience,  ’tis 
thy  own  property  which  is  in  queftion. — He  has 
broken  thy  hedge — he  has  ftolen  thy  fheep — he 
has  taken  thy  purfe.  Art  thou,  therefore,  fure 
whether  it  is  his  violation  of  thy  property,  or  of 
God’s  law,  which  provokes  thee  ?  I  will  put  a 
fecond  cafe. — I  hear  another  fwear  mod  griev- 
oufly;  or  I  meet  him  coming  drunk  out  of  an 
alehoufe ;  or  I  find  him  finging  a  loofe,  profane 
fong.  If  I  am  not  as  much  grieved  for  this  blaF 
phemer,  or  this  drunkard,  as  I  was  for  the  robber ; 
if  I  do  not  take  the  fame  pains  to  bring  him  to  a 
fenfe  of  his  fin,  which  I  did  to  bring  the  robber 
tojuflice,  “  how  dwelleth  the  love  of  God  in 
me  ?”  Is  it  not  clear  that  I  value  my  own  fheep 
more  than  God’s  commandments?  That  I  prize 
my  purfe  more  than  I  love  my  Maker  ?  In  fhorr, 
whenever  I  find  out  that  I  am  more  jealous  for  my 
own  property  than  for  God’s  law ;  more  careful 
about  my  own  reputation  than  his  honour,  I 
always  fufpedt  I  am  got  upon  wrong  ground,  and 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers ,  i6l 

that  even  my  right  actions  are  not  proceeding 
from  a  right  principle. 

BragwelL  Why  what  in  the  world  would  you 
have  me  do  ? 

IVorthy .  You  mu  ft  confefs  that  your  fins  are 
fins.  You  muft  not  merely  call  them  fins,  while 
you  fee  no  guilt  in  them ;  but  you  muft  confefs 
them  fo  as  to  hate  and  deteft  them ;  fa  as  to  be 
habitually  humbled  under  the  fenfe  of  them  ;  fo 
as  to  truft  for  falvation  not  in  your  freedom  from 
them,  but  in  the  mercy  of  a  Saviour;  and  fo  as  to 
make  it  the  chief  bufmefs  of  your  life  to  contend 
againft  them,  and  in  the  main  to  forfake  them* 
And  remember,  that  if  you  feek  for  a  deceitful 
gaiety,  rather  than  a  well-grounded  cheer  blinds ; 
if  you  prefer  a  falls  fe  entity  to  final  fafety,  and 
flow  go  away  to  your  cattle  and  your  farm,  and 
difmifs  the  fubjed  from  your  thoughts,  left  it 
fhould  make  you  uneafy  ;  I  am  not  lure  that  this 
fimple  difcourfe  may  not  appear  againft  you  at 
the  day  of  account,  as  a  frefh  proof  that  you 
(c  loved  darknefs  rather  than  light,”  and  fo  in- 
creafe  your  condemnation. 

Mr.  Bragwell  was  more  afteded  than  he  cared 
to  own.  He  went  to  bed  with  lefs  fpirits  and 
more  humility  than  ufual.  He  did  not,  however, 
care  to  let  Mr.  Worthy  fee  the  impreffion  which 
it  had  made  upon  him  ;  but  at  parting  next  morn¬ 
ing,  he  fhook  him  by  the  hand  more  cordially  than 
ufual,  and  made  him  promife  to  return  his  vifit  in 
a  fhort  time. 

..  What  befel  Mr,  Bragwell  and  his  family  on  his. 
going  home,  may,  perhaps,  make  the  fubjed  of  a 
future  hiftory,  Z* 


162 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 


PART  III. 

Mr.  BRAG  WELL,  when  he  returned  home 
from  his  vifit  to  Mr.  Worthy,  as  recorded  in  the 
Second  Part  of  this  Hiftory,  found  that  he  was 
not  quite  fo  happy  as  he  had  formerly  been.  The 
difcourfes  of  Mr.  Worthy  had  broken  in  not  a 
little  on  his  comfort.  And  he  began  to  fufpeCt 
that  he  was  not  fo  completely  in  the  right  as  his 
vanity  had  led  him  to  believe.  He  feemed  alfo  to 
feel  lefs  fatisfaCtion  in  the  idle  gentility  of  his  own 
daughters,  fince  he  had  been  witnefs  to  the  fim- 
plicity,  modefty,  and  ufefulnefs  of  thofe  of  Mr. 
Worthy.  And  lie  could  not  help  feeing  that  the 
vulgar  violence  of  his  wife  did  not  produce  fo 
much  family  happinefs  at  home,  as  the  humble 
piety  and  quiet  diligence  of  Mrs.  Worthy  pro¬ 
duced  in  the  houfe  of  his  friend. 

Happy  would  it  have  been  for  Mr.  Bragwell, 
if  he  had  followed  up  thofe  new  convictions  of 
his  own  mind,  which  would  have  led  him  to 
ftruggle  again  ft  the  power  of  evil  principles  in 
himfelf,  and  to  have  controuled  the  force  of  evil 
habits  in  his  family.  But  his  convictions  were 
juft  ftrong  enough  to  make  him  uneafy  under  his 
errors,  without  driving  him  to  reform  them.  The 
flight  impreflion  foon  wore  off,  and  he  fell  back 
into  his  old  practices.  Still  his  efteem  for  Mr. 
Worthy  was  not  at  all  abated  by  the  plain  dealing 
of  that  honeft  friend.  It  is  true  he  dreaded  his 
piercing  eye.  He  felt  that  his  examlpe  held  out  a 


The  Two  Wealthy  Fanners,  1 6j 

condant  reproof  to  himfelf.  Yet  fuch  is  the  force 
of  early  affe&ion  and  rooted  reverence,  that  he 
longed  to  fee  him  at  his  houfe.  This  defire  ,  in¬ 
deed,  as  is  commonly  the  cafe,  was  made  up  of 
mixed  motives.  He  wi died  for  the  pleafure  of 
his  friend’s  company  ;  he  longed  for  that  favorite 
triumph  of  a  vulgar  mind,  an  opportunity  of  Ihew- 
ing  him  his  riches  ;  and  he  thought  it  would  faife 
his  credit  in  the  world,  to  have  a  man  of  Mr, 
Worthy’s  character  at  his  houfe. 

Mr.  Bragwell,  it  is  true,  ftill  went  on  with  the 
fame  eagernefs  in  gaining  money,  and  the  fame 
©dentation  in  fpending  it.  But  though  he  was  as 
covetous  as  ever,  he  was  not  quite  fo  fure  that 
it  was  right  to  be  fo.  While  he  was  actually 
engaged  abroad  indeed,  in  tranfa&ions  with  his 
dealers,  he  was  not  very  fcrupulous  about  the 
means  by  which  he  got  his  money  ;  and  while  he 
was  indulging  in  feflivity  with  his  friends  at  home, 
he  was  eafy  enough  as  to  the  manner  in  which  he 
J pent  it.  But  a  man  can  neither  be  making  bar¬ 
gains,.  nor  making  feads  always ;  there  mud  be 
fome  intervals  between  thefe  two  great  objedts  for 
which  worldly  men  may  be  faid  to  live ;  and  in 
fome  of  thefe  intervals  the  mod  worldly  form, 
perhaps,  fome  random  plans  of  amendment.  And 
though  many  a  one  may  fay  in  the  fulnefs  of  en¬ 
joyment,  “  Soul,  take  thine  eafe,  eat,  drink,  and 
be  merry  yet  hardly  any  man,  perhaps,  allows 
himfelf  to  fay,  even  in  the  mod  fecret  moments, 

I  will  never  retire  from  bufinefs— I  will  never  re¬ 
pent— I  will  never  think  of  death — Eternity  (hall 
never  come  into  my  thoughts.  The  mod  that 
fuch  an  one  probably  ventures  to  fay  is,  I  need 


164  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers, 

not  repent  yet  >  I  will  continue  fuch  a  fin  a  little 
longer ;  it  will  be  time  enough  to  think  on  the 
next  world  when  I  am  no  longer  fit  for  the  bufi- 
nefs  or  the  pleafure  of  this. 

Such  was  the  cafe  with  BragwelL  Fie  fet  up, 
in  his  own  mind,  a  general  diftant  fort  of  refolu- 
tion,  that  Jome  years  hence ,  when  he  fhould  be  a 
few  years  elder ,  and  a  few  thoulands  richer ; 
when  a  few  more  of  his  prefent fchemes  fhould  he 
completed ,  he  would  then  think  of  altering  his 
courfe  of  life.  Fie  would  then  certainly  fet  about 
ipendihg  a  religious  old  age :  he  would  reform 
fome  pradtices  in  his  dealings,  or  perhaps  quit 
bufinefs  intirely  j  he  would  chink  about  reading 
•good  books,  and  when  he  had  completed  fuch 
and  fuch  a  purchafe,  he  would  even  begin  to  give 
fomething  to  the  poor,  but  at  prefent  he  really 
had  little  to  fpare  for  charity.-  The  very  reafon 
why  he  fhould  have  given  more,  was  juft  the 
caufe  he  affigned  for  not  giving  at  all,  namely, 
the  hardnefs  of  the  times .  The  true,  grand  fource 
of  charity,  felf-denial,  never  came  into  his  head. 
Spend  lefs  that  you  may  Jave  more ,  he  would  have 
thought  a  Ihrewd  maxim  enough.  But  Jpend  lefs 
that  you  may  fpare  more}  never  entered  into  his 
book  of  Proverbs. 

At  length  the  time  came  when  Mr.  Worthy 
had  promifed  to  return  his  vifit.  It  was  indeed 
a  little  haftened  by  the  notice  that  Mr.  Bragwel! 
would  have,  in  the  courfe  of  the  week,  a  piece  of 
land  to  fell  by  audtion  ;  and  though  Mr.  Wor¬ 
thy  believed  the  price  was  likely  to  be  above  his 
pocket,  yet  he  .  knew  it  was  an  occafion  which 
would  be  likely  to  bring  the  principal  Farmers  of 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  1 6  c 

that  neighbourhood  together,  fome  of  whom  he 
wanted  to  meet.  And  it  was  on  this  occafion 
that  Mr.  Bragwell  prided  himfelf,  that  he  fhould 
fhew  his  neighbours  fo  fenfible  a  man  as  his  dear 
friend  Mr.  Worthy. 

Worthy  arrived  at  his  friend’s  houfe  on  the 
Saturday,  time  enough  to  fee  the  houfe,  and 
garden,  and  grounds  of  Mr.  Bragwell  by  day¬ 
light.  He  faw  with  pleafure  (for  he  had  a  warm 
and  generous  heart)  thofe  evident  figns  of  his 
friend’s  profperity,  but  as  he  was  a  "man  of  a 
iober  mind,  and  was  a  mod  exadl  dealer  in  truth, 
he  never  allowed  his  tongue  the  licence  of  im- 
modeft  commendation,  which  he  ufed  to  lay  either 
favoured  of  flattery  or  envy.  Indeed  he  never- 
rated  mere  worldly  things  fo  highly  as  to  beftow 
upon  them  undue  praife.  His  calm  approbation 
fomewhat  difappointed  the  vanity  of  Mr.  Bra«-- 
well,  who  could  not  help  fecretly  fufpedling  that 
his  friend,  as  good  a  man  as  he  was,  was  not  quite 
free  from  envy.  He  felt,  however,  very  much  in¬ 
clined  to  forgive  this  jealoufy,  which  he  feared  the 
fight  of  his  ample  property,  and  handfome  habi¬ 
tation,  muft  naturally  awaken  in  the  mind  of  a 
man  whofe  own  pofifeflions  were  fo  inferior.  He 
p  radii  fed  the  ufual  trick  of  ordinary  and  vulgar 
minds,  that  of  pretending  himfelf  to  find  fome 
fault  with  thofe  things  which  were  particularly 
deferving  praife,  when  he  found  Mr.  Worthy  dif- 
pofed  to  pafs  them  over  in  filence. 

When  they  came  in  to  fupper,  he  affedled  to 
talk  of  the  comforts  of  Mr.  Worthy’s  little  par¬ 
lour,  by  way  of  calling  his  attention  to  his  own 
large  one.  He  repeated  the  word  Jhug,  as  ap- 


i  6  6  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

plied  to  every  thing  at  Mr.  Worthy’s,  with  the 
plain  defign  to  make  companions  favourable  to 
his  own  more  ample  domains.  He  contrived, 
as  he  palled  by  to  his  chair,  by  a  Teeming  acci¬ 
dent,  to  pufh  open  the  door  of  a  large  beaufet  in 
the  parlour,  in  which  all  the  finery  was  moft  often- 
tatioufly  fet  out  to  view.  He  protefled  with  a 
look  of  fatisfa&ion  which  belied  his  words,  that 
for  his  part  he  did  not  care  a  farthing  for  all  this 
trumpery  ;  and  then  fmiling  and  rubbing  his 
hands,  added  with  an  air  of  no  fmall  importance, 
what  a  good  thing  it  is,  though  for  people  of 
fubftance,  that  the  tax  on  plate  is  taken  of.  You 
are  a  happy  man,  Mr.  Worthy,  you  do  not  feel 
thefe  things  ;  tax  or  no  tax  is  all  the  fame  to  you. 
He  took  care  during  this  fpeech,  by  a  caft  of  his 
eye,  to  direct  Mr.  Worthy’s  attention  tt/a  great 
profufion  of  the  brighteft  cups,  falvers,  and  tan¬ 
kards,  and  other  fhining  ornaments,  which  crowd¬ 
ed  the  beaufet.  Mr.  Worthy  gravely  anfwered^— 
Mr.  Brag  well,  it  was  indeed  a  tax  which  could 
not  affeft  fo  plain  a  man  as  myfelf,  but  as  it  fell  on 
a  mere  luxury,  and  therefore  could  not  hurt  the 
poor,  I  was  always  forry  that  it  could  not  be  made 
productive  enough  to  be  continued.  A  man  in  my 
middling  fituation,  who  is  contented  with  a  good 
glafs  of  beer,  poured  from  a  handfome  earthen 
mug,  the  glafs,  the  mug,  and  the  beer,  all  of 
Englifh  manufacture,  will  be  but  little  difturbed 
at  taxes  on  plate  or  on  wine ;  but  he  will  regret,  as 
X  do,  that  many  of  thefe  taxes  are  fo  much  evaded, 
that  new  taxes  are  continually  brought  on  to  make 
up  the  deficiencies  of  the  old* 


'fry 


v 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers.  16  ? 

During  fupper  the  young  ladies  fat  in  difdainful 
filence,  not  deigning  to  beftow  the  final  left  civility 
on  fo  plain  a  man  as  Mr.  Worthy.  They  left  th« 
room  with  their  Mamma  as  foon  as  pofilble,  being- 
impatient  to  get  away  to  ridicule  their  lather’s 
friend  at  full  liberty. 

The  Dance :  cy,  the  Chrijlmtis  Meryy-tnaking, 

As  foon  as  they  were  gone,  Mr.  Worthy 
alked  Brag  well  how  his  family  comforts  flood, 
and  how  his  daughters,  who,  he  faid,  were  really 
fine  young  women,  went  on.  O,  as  to  that,  re¬ 
plied  Bragwell,  pretty  much  like  other  men’s 
handfome  daughters,  I  fuppefe,  that  is,  worfe 
and  worfe.  I  really  begin  to  apprehend  that 
their  fantaftical  notions  have  gained  fuch  a  head, 
that  after  all  the  money  I  have  feraped  together, 
I  lhall  never  get  them  well  married.  Betfy  has 
juft  loft  as  good  an  offer- as  any  girl  could  defire, 
young  Wilfon,  an  honeft,  ftibftantial  grazier  as 
any  in  the  county.  He  not  only  knows  every 
thing  proper  for  his  ftation,  but  is  pleafing  in  his 
behaviour,  and  a  pretty  fcholar  into  the  bargain  ; 
he  reads  hiftory  books  and  voyages,  of  a  winter’s 
evening,  to  his  infirm  father,  inftead  of  going  to 
the  card  affembly  in  our  town ;  he  neither  likes 
drinking  nor  fporting,  and  is  a  fort  of  favourite 
witn  our  Parfon,  hecaufe  be  takes  in  the  weekly 
numbers  of  a  fine  Bible  with  Cuts,  and  fubferibes 
to  the  Sunday  School,  and  makes  a  fufs  about 
helping  the  poor,  tbefe  dear  tiroes,  as  they  call 
them,  but  I  think  they  are  good  times  for  us, 
Mr.  Worthy.  Well,  for  all  this,  Betfy  only 


r68  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

defpifed  him,  and  laughed  at  him  ;  but  as  he  is 
both  handfome  and  rich,  I  thought  (he  might 
come  round  at  lad ;  and  fo  I  invited  him  to  come 
and  day  a  day  or  two  at  Chridmas,  when  we 
have  always  a  little  fort  of  merry-making  here. 
But  it  would  not  do.  He  fcorned  to  talk  that 
palavering  duff  which  (he  has  been  ufed  to  in 
the  marble  covered  books  I  told  you  of.  He 
told  her,  indeed,  that  it  would  be  the  happinefs 
of  his  heart  to  live  with  her,  which  I  own  I 
thought  was  as  much  as  could  be  expe£ted  of 
any  man.  But  Mifs  had  no  notion  of  marry iug 
one  who  was  only  defirous  of  living  with  her. 
No,  no,  forfooth,  her  lover  mud  declare  him! eh 
ready  to  die  for  her,  which  honed  Wilfon  was 
not  fuch  a  fool  as  to  offer  to  do.  In  the  after¬ 
noon,  however,  he  got  a  little  into  her  favour  by 
making  out  a  Rebus  or  two,  in  the  Lady  s  Diary, 
and  (he  condefcended  to  (ay,  (he  did  not  think 
Mr.  Wilfon  had  been  fo  good  a  fcholar;  but  he 
foon  fpoilt  all  again.  We  had  a  bit  of  a  hop  in 
the  evening.  T.  he  young  man,  though  he  had 
not  much  tade  for  thofe  fort  of  gambols,  yet 
thought  he  could  foot  it  a  little  in  the  old-fafhion- 
ed  way.  So  he  a(ked  Betfy  to  be  his  partner. 
But  when  he  affeed  what  dance  they  (hould  call, 
Mifs  drew  up  her  head,  and  in  a  drange  gib- 
berifh,  faid  (he  (hould  dance  nothing  but  a  Menuet 
de  la  Cour ,  and  ordered  him  to  call  it;  Wilfon 
dared,  and  honedly  told  her  (lie  mud  call  it  her- 
felf,  for  he  could  neither  fpell  nor  pronounce 
fuch  outlandiffi  words.  I  burd  out  a  laughing, 
and  told  him,  I  fuppofed  it  was  feme  thing  like 
quedions  and  commands,  and  if  fo,  that  was 


The  Two  IV eal thy  Farmers .  169 

much  merrier  than  dancing.  Seeing  her  partner 
Handing  Hock  Hill,  and  not  knowing  how  to  *?et 
out  of  the  (crape,  the  girl  began  by  herfelf,  and 
fell  to  fwimming,  and  finking,  and  capering,  and 
flourilhing,  and  pofturing,  for  all  the  work!  juft 
like  the  man  on  the  flack-rope  at  our  fair.  But 
feeing  Wilfon  Handing  like  a  fluck  pig,  and  we 
all  laughing  at  her,,  fhe  refolved  to  wreak  her 
malice  upon  him  ;  fo,  with  a  look  of  rage  and 
difdain,  fhe  advifed  him  to  go  down  country 
bumkin,  with  the  dairy  maid,  who  would  make 
a  much  fitter  partner,  as  well  as  wife,  for  him, 
than  (he  could  do.  I  am  quite  of  your  mind, 
Mifs,  (aid  he,  with  more  fpirit  than  I  thought 
was  in  him ;  you  may  make  a  good  partner  for 
a  dance,  but  you  would  make  a  fad  "one  to  go 
through  life  with.  I  will  take  my  leave  of  you, 
Mifs,  with  this  fhort  Hory.  I  load"  lately  a  pretty 
large  concern  in  hay-jobbing,  which  took  me  to 
London.  I  waited  a  good  while  in  the  Hay- 
market  for  my  dealer,  and,  to  pafs  away  the  time, 

I  Hepped  into  a  fort  of  (inging  play-houfe  there, 
where  I  was  grieved  to  the  heart  to  fee  young 
women  painted  and  dizened  out,  and  capering 
away  juft  as  you  have  been  doing.  I  thought  it 
bad  enough  in  them,  and  wondered  the  quality 
could  be  entertained  with  fuch  indecent  mum¬ 
mery.  But  little  did  I  think  to  meet  with  the 
fame  paint,  finery,  and  tricks,  in  a  farm  houfe. 

I  will  never  marry  a  woman  who  defpifes  me, 
nor  the  Hation  in  which  I  (hould  place  her,  and 
fo  I  take  my  leave. — Poor  girl,  how  fhe  was  pro¬ 
voked!  to  be  publicly  refufed,  and  turned  ofl> 


I 


170  v  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 

* 

as  it  weir,  by  a  grazier  !  But  it  was  of  life  to 
feme  of  the  other  girls,  who  have  not  held  up 
their  heads  quite  fo  high  fince,  nor  painted  quite 
fo  red,  but  have  condefcended  to  fpeak  to  their 
equals. 

But  how  I  run  on !  I  forget  it  is  Saturday  night, 
and  that  I  ought  to  be  paying  my  workmen,  who 
are  all  waiting  for  me  without. 

■Saturday  Night  s  or  the  Workmens'  Wages. 

As  foon  as  Mr.  Bragwell  had  done  paying  his 
men,  Mr.  Worthy  faid  to  him,  I  have  made  it 
a  habit,  and  I  hope  not  an  unprofitable  one,  of 
trying  to  turn  to  fome  moral  ufe,  not  only  all  the 
events  of  daily  life,  but  all  the  employments  of 
it  too.  And  though  it  occurs  fo  often,  I  hardly 
know  one  that  fets  me  a  thinking  more  ferioufly 
than  the  ordinary  bufinefs  you  have  been  juft  dis¬ 
charging-  Aye,  faid  Bragwell,  it  fets  me  think¬ 
ing  too,  and  ferioufly,  as  you  fay,  when  I  ob- 
ferve  how  much  the  price  of  wages  is  increafed. 
Yes,  yes,  you  are  ready  enough  to  think  of  that, 
faid  Worthy,  but  you  fay  not  a  word  of  how 
much  the  value  of  your  land  is  increafed,  and 
that  the  more  you  pay,  the  more  you  can  afford 
to  pay.  But  the  thoughts  I  fpoke  of  are  quite 
of  another  caft.  When  I  call  in  my  labourers, 
on  a  Saturday  night,  to  pay  them,  it  often  brings 
to  my  mind  the  great  and  general  day  of  ac¬ 
count,  when  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us,  fhall  be 
called  to  our  grand  and  awful  reckoning,  when 
we  fhall  go  to  receive  our  wages,  mafter  and  fer- 
vants,  farmer  and  labourer.  When  I  fee  that 


%,  f. .  '  '  .  '  .  » 

The  Two  JFealthy  Farmers.  ijj 

one  of  my  men  has  failed  of  the  wages  he  fhould 
have  received,  'becaufe  he  has  been  idling  at  a 
fair ;  another  has  loft  a  day  by  a  drinking  bout ; 
a  third,  confeffes  that,  though  he  had  talk-work, 
and  might  have  earned  kill  more,  yet  he  has 
been  carelefs,  and  has  not  his  full  pay  to  receive ; 
this,  I  lay,  lornetimes  fets  me  on  thinking  whe¬ 
ther  I  alio  have  made  the  moft  of  my  time.  And 
when  I  come  to  pay  even  the  more  diligent  who 
have  worked  all  the  week  ;  when  I  reflect  that 
even  thefe  have  done  no  more  than  it  was  their 
duty  to  do,  I  cannot  help  faying  to  myfelf,  night 
is  come ;  Saturday  night  is  come.  No  repent¬ 
ance,  or  diligence  on  the  part  of  thefe  poor  men 
can  now  make  a  bad  week’s  work  good.  This 
week  is  gone  into  eternity.  To-morrow  is  the 
feafon  of  reft;  working  time  is  over.  My  life 
alfo  will  foon  be  fwallowed  up  in  eternity ;  foon 
the  lpace  allotted  me  for  diligence,  for' labour, 
will  be  over.  Soon  will  the  grand  queftion  be 
afked,  ff.what  haft  thou  done  ?  Didft  thou  uie- 
thy  working  days  to  the  end  for  which  they  were 
given  ?”  With  fome  .fuch  thoughts  I  commonly 
go  to  bed,  and  they  help  to  quicken  me  to  a 
keener  diligence  for  the  next  week. 

Some  account  of  a  Sunday  in  Mr%  Brag  well’s  Family « 

Mr.  Worthy  had  been  for  fo  many  years  ufeci  to 
the  fober  ways  of  his  own  well  ordered  family, 
that  he  gieatly  difliked  to  pais  a  Sunday  in  any 
houfe  of  which  Religion  was  not  the  governing 
principle.  Indeed,  he  commonly  ordered  his  af- 

I  2 


17  2  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

fairs,  and  regulated  his  journies  with  an  eye  to 
this  objedt.  To  pals  a  Sunday  in  an  irreligious 
family,  faid  he,  is  always  unpleafant,  often  unfafe. 

I  feldom  find  I  can  do  them  any  good,  and  they 
may  perhaps  do  me  fome  harm.  At  leaft,  I  am 
giving  a  fandtion  to  their  manner  of  palling  it,  if 
I  pafs  it  in  the  fame  manner.  If  I  reprove  them, 
I  fubjedt  myfelf  to  the  charge  of  Angularity,  and 
of  being  <c  righteous  over  much  if  I  do  not 
reprove  them,  I  confirm  and  ftrengthen  them 
in  evil.  And  whether  I  reprove  them  or  not,  I 
certainly  partake  of  their  guilt  if  I  fpend  it  as 
they  do. 

He  had,  however,  fo  ftrong  a  defire  to  be  ufe- 
ful  to  Mr.  Bragwell,  that  he  at  length  determin¬ 
ed  to  break  through  his  common  practice,  and 
pafs  the  Sunday  at  his  houfe.  Mr.  Worthy  was 
iurprized  to  find  that  though  the  church  bell 
was  going,  the  breakfaft  was  not  ready,  and  ex- 
preffed  his  wonder  how  this  fhould  be  the  cafe 
in  fo  induftrious  a  family.  Bragwell  made  fome 
auk  ward  excufes.  He  faid  his  wife  worked  her 
fervants  fo  hard  all  the  week,  that  even  fine,  as 
notable  as  fhe  was,  a  little  relaxed  from  the  flridt- 
nefs  of  her  demands  on  Sunday  mornings ;  and 
he  owned  that  in  a  general  way,  no  one  was  up 
early  enough  for  church.  He  confeffed  that  his 
wife  commonly  fpent  the  morning  in  making 
puddings,  pies,  and  cakes,  to  laft  through  the 
week,  as  Sunday  was  the  only  leifure  time  fhe 
and  her  maids  had.  Mr.  Worthy  foon.faw  an 
uncommon  buflle  in  the  houfe.  All  hands  were 
bufy.  It  was  nothing  but  baking  and  boiling, 
and  frying,  and  roafting,  and  running,  and  fcold- 
jno*,  and  eating.  The  boy  was  kept  from  church 


'  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers.  173 

to  clean  the  plate,  the  man  to  gather  the  fruit, 
the  miftrefs  to  make  the  cheefe  cakes,  the  maids 
to  drefs  the  dinner,  and  the  young  ladies  to  drefs 
themfelves. 

The  truth  was,  Mrs.  Bragwell,  who  had  heard 
much  of  the  order  and  good  management  of  Mr. 
Worthy’s  family,  but  who  looked  down  with  dif- 
dain  upon  them  as  far  lefs  rich  than  herfelf,  was 
refolved  to  indulge  her  vanity  on  the  prefent  oc~ 
cafion.  She  was  determined  to  be  even  with 
Mrs.  Worthy,  in  whole  praifes  Bragwell  had  been 
fo  loud,  and  felt  no  fmall  pleafure  in  the  hope 
of  making  her  gueft  uneafy,  when  he  fliould  be 
ftruck  with  the  difplay  both  of  her  fkill  and  her 
wealth.  Mr.  Worthy  was  indeed  ftruck  to  be¬ 
hold  as  large  a  dinner  as  he  had  been  ufed  to  fee 
at  a  Juftice’s  meeting.  He,  whole  frugal  and 
.  pious  wife  had  accuftomed  him  only  to  fuch  a 
plain  Sunday’s  dinner  as  could  be  drefted  without 
keeping  any  one  from  church,  when  he  furveyed 
the  loaded  table  of  his  friend,  inftead  of  feeling 
tnat  envy  which  thefe  grand  preparations  were 
meant  to  raife,  felt  nothing  but  difguft  at  the 
vanity  ol  his  friend’s  wife,  mixed  with  much  thank- 
fulnefs  for  the  piety  of  his  own. 

After  having  made  the  dinner  wait  a  long 
time,  the  Mils  Bragwelis  marched  in,  drefted  as 
if  they  were  going  to  the  Aftize  Ball  5  they  look¬ 
ed  very  fcornful  at  having  been  lo  hurried ; 
though  they  had  been  drefting  ever  ftnce  they  got 
up,  and  their  fond  father,  when  he  faw  them  fo 
line,  forgave  all  their  impertinence,  and  call  an 
eye  of  triumph  on  Mr.  Worthy,  who  felt  he  had 

I  3 


i/4  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 

never  loved  his  own  humble  daughters  fo  well  as 
at  that  moment. 

In  the  afternoon  the  whole  party  v/ent  to 
church.  To  do  them  juftice,  it  was  indeed  their 
common  pradh’ce  once  a  day,  when  the  weather 
was  good,  and  the  road  was  neither  dully  nor 
dirty,  when  the  Minifter  did  not  begin  too  early, 
when  the  young  ladies  had  not  been  difappointed 
of  their  new  bonnets  on  the  Saturday  night,  and 
when  they  had  no  Imart  company  in  the  houfe 
who  rather  wifhed  to  fray  at  home.  When  this 
laid  was  the  cafe,  which,  to  fay  the  truth,  hap¬ 
pened  pretty  often,  it  was  thought  a  piece  of  good 
manners  to  conform  to  the  humour  of  the  guells. 
Mr.  Bragwell  had  this  day  forborne  to  afk  any 
of  his  ufual  company,  well  knowing  that  their 
vain  and  worldly  converfation  would  only  ferve 
to  draw  on  him  fome  new  reprimand  from  his 
friend. 

Mrs.  Bragwell  and  her  daughters  picked  up, 
as  ufual,  a  good  deal  of  acquaintance  at  church. 
Many  compliments  palled,  and  much  of  the  news 
of  the  week  was  retailed  before  the  fervice  began. 
They  waited  with  impatience  for  the  reading  the 
leffons  as  a  licenfed  feafon  for  whifpering,  and 
the  fnbjedt  begun  during  the  leffons,  was  finifhed 
while  they  were  Tinging.  The  young  ladies  made 
an  appointment  for  the  afternoon  with  a  friend  in 
the  next  pew,  while  their  Mamma  took  the  op¬ 
portunity  of  enquiring  the  character  of  a  dairy 
maid,  which  hie  obferved,  with  a  compliment  to 
her  own  good  management,  would  lave  time  on  a 
week  day.  v 

Mr.  Worthy,  who  found  himfelf  quite  in  a  new  - 


The  Two  Wealthy  Fanner's .  37.5 

world,  returned  home  with  his  friend  alone.  In 
the  evening  he  ventured  to  afk  Bragwell,  if  he 
did  not,  on  a  Sunday  night,  at  lead:,  make  it  a 
cuftom  to  read  and  pray  with  his  family.  Brag- 
well  told  him,  he  was  lorry  to  fay  he  had  no  fa¬ 
mily  at  home,  elfe  he  fhould  like  to  do  it  for  the 
fake  of  example.  But  as  his  fervants  worked 
hard  all  the  week,  his  wife  was  of  opinion  that 
they  fhould  then  have  a  little  holiday.  Mr. 
Worthy  preffed  it  home  upon  him,  whether  the 
utter  negledt  of  hi?  fervants’  principles  was  not 
likely  to  make  a  heavy  article  in  his  final  account: 
and  afked  him  if  he  did  not  believe  that  the  too 
general  liberty  of  meeting  together,  jaunting,  and 
diverting  themfelves,  on  Sunday  evenings,  was 
not  often  found  to  produce  the  worlt  effects  on 
the  morals  of  lervants,  and  the  good  order  of  fa¬ 
milies  ?  I  put  it  to  your  confidence,  laid  he,  Mr. 
Bragwell,  whether  Sunday,  which  was  meant  as 
a  bleffing  and  a  benefit,  is  not,  as  it  is  commonly 
kept,  turned  into  the  moil  mifchievous  part  of 
the  week,  by  the  felfifh  kindnefs  of  mailers,  who, 
not  daring  to  fet  their*  fervants  about  any  public 
work,  allot  them  that  day  to  follow  their  own 
devices,  that  they  themfelves  may,  with  more 
rigour,  refufe  them  a  little  indulgence  and  a  rea- 
fonabie  holiday  in  the  working  part  of  the  week, 
which  a  good  fervant  has  now  and  then  a  fair 
right  to  expedl.  Thofe  mailers  who  will  give 
them  half,  or  all  the  Lord’s  day,  will  not  fpare 
them  a  (ingle  hour  of  a  working  day.  Their 
work  muft  be  done ;  God’s  work  may  be  let 
alone,  -A 

I  4 


V 


Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

Mr.  Bragwell  owned  that  Sunday  had  pro¬ 
duced  many  mifchiefs  in  his  own  family.  That 
the  young  men  and  maids,  having  no  eve  upon 
them,  frequently  went  to  improper  places  with 
other  Servants,  '  turned  adrift  like  themfelves. 
That  in  there  parties  the  poor  girls  were  too 
frequently  led  adray,  and  the  men  got  to  public 
hoyfes,  and  fives  playing.  But  it  was  none  of 
Ins  bulineis  to  watch  them,  If  is  family  only 
did  as  others  do ;  indeed  it  was  his  wife's  con¬ 
cern  j  and  as  die  was  fo  good  a  manager  on  other 
days,  that  fhe  would  not  fpare  them  an  hour  to 
vifit  a  lick  father  or  mother,  it  would  be  hard, 
ihe  faid,  if  they  might  not  have  Sunday  after¬ 
noon  to  themfelves,  and  die  could  not  blame 
them  for  making  the  mod  of  it.  Indeed,  die 
was  fo  indulgent  in  this  particular,  that  fhe  often 
excufed  the  men  from  going  to  church  that  they 
might  ferve  the  beads,  and  the  maids  that  they 
might  get  the  milking  done  before  the  holiday 
part  of  ^the  evening  came  on.  She  would  not 
indeed  hear  of  any  competition  between  doino- 
her  work  and  taking  their  pleafure;  but  when  the 
difference  lay  between  their  going  to  church  and 
taking  their  pleafure,  he  mufi  fay,  that  for  his 
wife,  die  always  inclined  to  the  good-natured  fide 
of  the  quedion.  She  is  dridt  enough  in  keeping 
tnem  iober,  becaufe  drurikennefs  is  a  co dly  fin; 
and,  to  do  her  judice,  fhe  does  not  care  how  little 
they  fin  at  her  expence. 

VV  ell,  faid  Mr,  Worthy,  I  always  like  to  exa¬ 
mine  both  ddes  fairly,  and  to  fee  the  different 
effedfs  of  oppofite  practices;  now,  which  plan 
produces  the  greated  diare  of  comfort  to  the 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers.  177 

mailer,  and  of  profit  to  the  fervants  in  the  long 
run  ?  Your  fervants,  'tis  likely,  are  very  much  at¬ 
tached  to  you  3  and  very  fond  of  living  where  they' 
get  their  own  way  in  fo  great  a  point. 

O,  as  to  that,  replied  Bragwel  1,  you  are  quite 
out.  My  houfe  is  a  ficene  of  diicord,  mutiny, 
and  difcontent.  And  though  there  is  not  a  bet¬ 
ter  manager  in  England  than  my  wife,  yet  fhe  is 
always  changing  her  fervants,  fo  that  every 
quarter-day  is  a  fort  of  gaol-delivery  at  my 
houfe  ;  and  when  they  go  off,  as  they  often  do, 
at  a  moment's  warning,  to  own  the  truth,  I  often 
give  them  money  privately,  that  they  may  not. 
carry  my  wife  before  the  juft  ice  to  get’ their 
wages.. 

I  fee,  faid  Mr.  Worthy,  that  all  your  worldly 
compliances  do  not  procure  you  even  worldly 
happinefs.  As  to  my  own  family,  I  take  care 
to  let  them  fee  that  their  pleafure  is  bound  up 
with  their  duty,  and  that  what  they  may  call  my 
ftriclnefs,  has  nothing  in  view  but  their  fafety 
and  happinefs.  By  this  means,  I  commonly  gain 
their  love  as  well  as  fecure  their  obedience.  I 
know  that  with  all  my  care  I  am  liable  to  be 
difappointed,  cc  from  the  corruption  that  is  ih 
the  world  through  fin.”  But  whenever  this 
happens,  fo  far  from  encouraging  me  in  re  miff- 
nefs,  it  only  ferves  to  quicken  my  zeal.  If}  by 
God’s  blefiing,  my  fervant  turns  out  a  good 
Chriflian,  f  havq  been  an  humble  inflrument 
in  his  hand  of  faving  a  foul  committed  to 
charge. 

I  5. 


mv 


I 

1 7  S  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers, 

Mrs.  Bragwell  came  home,  but  brought  only 
one  of  her  daughters  with  her,  the  other,  (he  faid, 
had  given  them  the  flip,  and  was  gone  with  a 
young  friend,  and  would  not  return  for  a  day  or 
two.  Mr.  Bragwell  was  greatly  difpleafed  ;  as 
he  knew  that  young  friend  had  but  a  flight  cha¬ 
racter,  and  kept  bad  acquaintances.  Mrs.  Brag- 
well  came  in  all  hurry  and  buftle,  faying,  if  her 
family  did  not  go  to  bed  with  the  Lamb  on  Sun¬ 
days,  when  they  had  nothing  to  do,,  how  could 
they  rife  with  the  Lark  on  Mondays,  when  fo 
much  was  to  be  done. 

Mr.  Worthy  had  this  night  much  matter  for 
reflection.  We  need  not,  faid  he,  go  into  the 
great  world  to  look  for  diffipation  and  vanity. 
We  can  find  both  in  a  farm  houle.  As  for  me 
and  my  houfe,  continued  he,  we  will  ferve  the 
Lord  every  day,  but  elpecially  on  Sundays.  It 
is  the  day  which  the  Lord  hath  made;  hath  made 
for  himfelf ;  we  will  rejoic^  in  it,  and  confider 
the  religious  ufe  of  it  not  only  as  a  duty  but  as  a 
privilege. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Bragwell  and  his  friend 
let  out  early  for  the  Golden  Lion.  What  palled 
on  this  little  journey,  my  readers  (ball  hear  next 
month. 

Z. 


/  » 


\ 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  179 


PART  IV. 

Jt  was  mentioned  in  the  laft  part  of  this  Hif- 
tory,  that  the  chief  reafon  which  had  drawn  Mr. 
Worthy  to  viftt  his  friend  juft  at  the  prefent 
time,  was,  that  Mr.  Bragwell  had  a  fmal'l  eftate 
to  fell  by  aucftion.  Mr.  Worthy, _  though  he  did 
not  think  he  fhould  be  a  bidder,  wifhed  to  be 
prefent,  as  he  had  bufinefs  to  fettle  with  one  or 
two  perfons,  who  were  expended  at  the  Golden 
Lion  on  that  day,  and  lie  had  put  off  his  vifit  till 
he  had  feen  the  fale  advertiled  in  the  County 
Paper. 

Mr.  Bragwell  and  Mr.  Worthy  fet  out  early  on 
the  Monday  morning,  on  their  way  to  the  Golden 
Lion,  a  fmall  inn,  in  a  neighbouring  market 
town.  As  they  had#  time  before  them,  they  had 
agreed  to  ride  (lowly,  that  they  might  converfe 
on  fome  ufeful  fubjefl  but  here,  as  nfual,  they 
had  two  opinions  about  the  fame  thing.  Mr. 
Bragwell -s  notion  of  a  ufeful  fiibject  was,  fome- 
thing  by  which  money  was  to  be  got,  and  a  good 
bargain  ftruck.  Mr.  Worthy  was  no  left;  a  man 
of  bufinefs  than  his  friend.  His  fchemes  were 
wife,  and  his  calculations  juft ;  his  reputation  for 
integrity  and  good  (enfe  made  him  the  common 
judge  and  umpire  in  his  neighbours’  affairs,  while 
no  one  paid  a  more  exacft  attention  to  every 
tran  faction  of  his  own.  But  the  bufinefs  of 
getting  money  was  not  with  him  the  firft,  much 
,  I  6 


i8o  The  Two 'Wealthy  Farmers . 

Ids  was  it  the  whole  concern  of  the  day.  Every 
morning  when  he  rofe  he  remembered  that  he 
had  a  Maker  to  worfhip,  as  well  as  a  family  to 
maintain.  Religion,  however,  never  made  him 
neoledt  bufmels,  though  it  fometimes  led  him  to 
poftpone  it.  He  ufed  to  fay,  no  man  had  any  rea- 
fon  to  expect  God's  bleffing  through  the  day,  who 
did  not  aik  it  in  the  morning;  nor  was  he  likely 
to  fpend  the  day  in  the  fear  of  God,  who  did  not 
begin  it  with  his  worfhip.  But  he  had  not  the 
lefs  fenfe,  fpirit,  and  adtivity,  when  he  was  among 
men  abroad,  becaufe  he  had  firft  ferved  God  at 
home. 

As  thefe  two  Farmers  rode  along,  Mr.  Worthy 
took  occafion,  from  the  finenefs  of  the  day,  and 
the  beauty  of  the  country  through  which  they 
palled,  to  turn  the  difcourfe  to  the  goodnefs  of 
God,  and  our  infinite  obligations  to  him.  He 
knew  that  the  tranfition  from  thankfgiving  to 
prayer  would  be  natural  and  eafy,  and  he  there¬ 
fore  flic!  by  degrees,  into  that  important  fubjedt : 
and  he  obferved  that  fecret  prayer  was  a  duty  of 
uni verfal  obligation,  which  every  man  had  it  in 
his  power  to  fulfil ;  and  which  he  ferioufly  be¬ 
lieved  was  the  ground- work  of  all  religious  prac¬ 
tice,  and  of  all  devout  affediions. 

Mr.  Bragwell  felt  confcious  that  he  was  very 
negligent  and  irregular  in  the  performance  of  this 
duty ;  indeed,  he  confidered  it  as  a  mere  cere¬ 
mony,  or  at  leaf:,  as  a  duty  which  might,  give 
way  to  the  flighted  temptation  of  drowfinefs  at 
night,  or  of  btifinefs  in  the  morning.  As  he 
knew  he  did  not  live  in  the  confcientious  perfor¬ 
mance  of  this  pradtice3  he  tried  to  ward  off  fihe 


The  Two  Wealthy  Fanners.  181 

fubjeft,  knowing  what  a  home  way  his  friend 
had  of  putting  things.  After  fome  evafion,  he 
at  lad  faid,  he  certainly  thought  private  prayer  a 
good  cudom,  efpecially  for  people  who  have 
time ;  and  thofe  who  were  Tick,  or  old,  or  out  of 
bufinefs,  could  not  do  better ;  but  that  for  his 
part,  he  believed  much  of  thefe  fort  of  things  was 
not  expected  from  men  in  adrive  life. 

Mr.  Worthy.  I  fhould  think,  Mr.  Bragwell, 
that  thofe  who  are  moll  expofed  to  temptation 
fland  mod:  in  need  of  prayer ;  now  there  are  few, 
methinks,  who  are  more  expofed  to  temptation, 
than  men  in  bufinefs,  for  thofe  mud:  be  in  mod: 
danger,  at  lead:,  from  the  world,  who  have  moll 
to  do  with  it.  And  if  this  be  true,  ought  we  not 
to  prepare  ourfelves  in  the  clofet  for  the  trials 
of  the  market,  the  field,  and  the  drop  ?  It  is  but 
putting  on  our  armour  before  we  go  out  to 
battle. 

Bragwell.  For  my  part,  I  think  example  is 
the  whole  of  religion,  and  if  the  mailer  of  a  family 
is  orderly,  and  regular,  and  goes  to  church,  he 
does  every  thing  which  can  be  required  of  him, 
and  no  one  has  a  right  to  call  him  to  account  for 
any  thing  more. 

Worthy .  Give  me  leave  to  fay,  Mr.  Bragwell, 
that  highly  as  I  rate  a  good  example,  ftill  I  mull 
fet  a  good  principle  above  it.  I  know  I  mud: 
keep  good  order  indeed,  for  the  fake  of  others  ; 
but  I  mxilt  keep  a  good  confcience  for  my  own 
lake.  To  God  I  owe  fecret  piety,  I  mud:  there¬ 
fore  pray  to  him  in  private. — To  my  family  I  owe 
a  chridian  example,  and  for  that,  among  other 
reafons,  I  mud  not  fail  to  go  to  church. 


1 8  2  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

Bragwell.  You  are  talking,  Mr.  Worthy,  as 
if  I  were  an  enemy  to  Chrillianity.  Sir,  I  am  no 
Heathen.  Sir,  I  belong  to  the  Church ;  I  go  to 
Church;  I  always  drink  profperity  to  the  Church. 
You  yo unelf,  as  ftrift  as  you  are,  in  never  miffing 
it  twice  a  day,  are  not  a  warmer  friend  to  the 
Church  than  I  am. 

Worthy .  That  is  to  fay,  you  know  its  value 
as  an  inftitution,  but  you  do  not  feem  to  know 
that  a  man  may  be  very  irreligious  under  the 
belt  religious  inftitutions ;  and  that  even  the 
mo  ft  excellent  of  them  are  but  means  of  being 
religious,  and  are  no  more  religion  itfelf  than 
brick  and  mortar  are  prayers  and  thankfgivings. 
I  fhall  never  think,  however  high  their  profeftion, 
and  even  however  regular  their  attendance,  that 
.thole  men  truly  relpect  the  Church,  who  bring 
home  little  of  that  religion  which  is  taught  in  it 
into  their  own  families,  or  their  own  hearts  ;  or, 
who  make  the  whole  of  Chrillianity  to  confift  in 
th  eir  attendance  there.  Excufe  me,  Mr.  Brag- 
well. 

Bragwell.  Mr.  Worthy,  I  am  perfuaded  that 
religion  is  quite  a  proper  thing  for  the  poor; 
and  I  don’t  think  that  the  multitude  can  ever 
be  kept  in  order  without  it ;  and  I  am  a  fort  of 
a  politician,  you  know.  We  muft  have  bits,  and 
bridles,  and  reftraints  for  the  vulgar. . 

Worthy .  Your  opinion  is  very  juft  as  far  as 
it  goes,  but  it  does  not  go  far  enough,  fmce  it 
does  not  go  to  the  root  of  the  evil,  for  while  you 
value  yourfelf  on  the  foundnefs  of  this  principle 
as  a  politician,  I  with  you  alfo  to  fee  the  reafon  of 
it  as  a  Chriflian ;  depend  upon  it,  if  religion  be 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers.  1 8  j 

good  for  the  community  at  large,  it  is  equally 
good  for  every  family ;  and  what  is  right  for  a 
family  is  equally  right  for  each  individual  in  it. 
You  have  therefore  yourfelf  brought  the  mod 
unanfwerable  argument  why  you  ought  to  be  re¬ 
ligious  yourfelf,  by  afking  how  we  fhall  keep 
others  in  order  without  religion.  For,  believe 
me,  Mr.  Bragwell,  there  is  no  particular  claufe 
to  except  you  in  the  Gofpel.  There  are  no  ex¬ 
ceptions  there  in  favour  of  any  one  dais  of  men. 
The  fame  redraints  which  are  neceffary  for  the 
people  at  large,  are  equally  neceflary  for  men  of 
every  order,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  bond 
and  free,  learned  and  ignorant.  If  Jefus  Chrifl 
died  for  no  particular  rank,  clafs,  or  community, 
there  is  no  one  rank,  clafs,  or  communion  ex¬ 
empt  from  the  obedience  to  his  laws  enjoined  by 
the  Gofpel.  May  I  afk  you,  Mr.  Bragwell,*  what 
is  your  reafon  for  going  to  Church  ? 

Bragwell.  Sir,  I  am  Ihocked  at  your  queftion. 
How  can  I  avoid  doing  a  thing  fo  cuflomary  and 
fo  creditable  ?  Not  go  to  Church,  indeed  !  What 
do  you  take  me  for,  Mr.  Worthy?  I  am  afraid 
you  fufped  me  to  be  a  Papid,  or  a  Heathen,  or 
of  fome  religion  or  other,  that  is  not  what  it 
fhould  be  ? 

Worthy.  If  a  foreigner  were  to  hear  how  vi¬ 
olently  one  fet  of  Chriflians  in  this  country  often 
fpeak  againd  another,  how  earned  would  he  fup- 
pofe  us  all  to  be  in  religious  matters :  and  how 
aflonifhed  to  difcover,  that  many  a  man  has,  per¬ 
haps,  little  other  proof  to  give  of  the  flncerity  of 
his  own  religion,  except  the  violence  with  which 
he  hates  the  religion  of  another  party.  It  is  not 

5 


184  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

•  ,  /  - •  ™* 

ir religion  which  fuch  men  hate  but  the  religion 
of  the  man,  or  the  party,  whom  they  are  fet 
againfl :  now  hatred  is  certainly  no  part  of  the  re¬ 
ligion  of  the  Gofpel.  Well,  you  have  told  me 
why  you  go  to  Church ;  now  pray  tell  me,  why 
do  you  confefs  there,  on  your  bended  knees,  every 
Sunday,  that  “  you  have  erred  and  firayed  from 
God’s  ways  ?”  “  that  there  is  no  health  in  you  ?” 
“  that  you  have  done  what  you  ought  not  to  do  ?” 
€C  and  that  you  are  a  miferable  fmner  ?” 

Bragwell.  Becauie  it  is  in  the  Common  Prayer 
Book,  to  be  fure,  a  book  which  I  have  heard  you 
yourfelf  fay  was  written  by  wife  and  good  men,  the 
pillars  of  the  Proteftant  Church. 

Worthy.  But  have  you  no  other  reafon  ? 

Bragwell.  No,  I  can’t  fay  I  have. 

Worthy .  When  you  repeat  that  excellent  form 
of  confeilion,  do  you  really  feel  that  you  are  a 
miferable  fmner  ? 

Bragwell .  No,  I  can’t  fay  I  do.  But  that  is 
no  objection  to  my  repeating  it,  becaufe  it  may 
fuit  the  cafe  of  many  who  are  fo.  I  fuppofe  the 
good  Dodlors  who  drew  it  up,  intended  that  part 
for  wicked  people  only,  fuch  as  drunkards,  and 
thieves,  and  murderers ;  for  I  imagine  they  could 
not  well  contrive  to  make  the  fame  prayer  quite 
fuit  an  honcft  man  and  a  rogue ;  and  fo  I  fuppofe 
they  thought  it  fafer  to  make  a  good  man  repeat 
a  prayer  which  fuited  a  rogue,  than  to  make  a; 
rogue  repeat  a  prayer  which  fuited  a  good  man  ; 
and  you  know  it  is  fo  cuilomary  for  every  body 
to  repeat  the  general  confeflion,  that  it  can’t  hurt 
the  credit  of  the  moil  refpedabie  perfcns, /though 


The  Two  Wealthy-  Farmers .  1 85 

every  refpectable  perfon  mud  know  they  have  no 
particular  concern  in  it. 

Worthy.  Depend  upon  it, -Mr.  Bragwell,  thofe 
good  Doctors  you  fpeak  of,  were  not-  quite  of 
your  opinion  5  they  really  thought  that  what  you 
call  honed  men,  were  grievous  finners  in  a  certain 
fenfe,  and  that  the  bed  of  us  dand  in  need  of 
making  that  humble  confeflion.  Mr.  Bragwell, 
do  you  believe  in  the  fall  of  Adam  ? 

Bragwell .  To  be  fure  I  do,  and  a  fad  thing  for 
Adam  it  was ;  why,  it  is  in  the  Bible,  is  it  not  ? 
It  is  one  of  the  prettied  chapters  in  Qencfis. 
Don’t  you  believe  it,  Mr  Worthy  ? 

Worthy .  Yes,  truly  I  do.  But  I  don’t  believe 
it  merely  becaufe  I  read  it  in  Genefis ;  though  I 
know,  indeed,  that  I  am  bound  to  believe  every 
part  of  the  word  of  God.  But  I  have  dill  an  ad¬ 
ditional  reafon  for  believing  in  the  fall  of  the  fir  ft 
man. 

Bragwell.  Have  you  indeed  ?  Now,  I  can't 
gueis  what  that  can  be. 

Worthy.  Why,  my  own  obfervation  of  what 
is  within  myfelf  teaches  me  to  believe  it.  It 
is  not  only  the  third  chapter  of  Genefis  which 
convinces  me  of  the  truth  of  the  fall,  but  alio 
the  lintul  inclinations  which  I  find  in  my  own 
heart  correfponding  with  it.  This  is  one  of  thofe 
leading  truths  of  Chridianity  of  which  I  can  never 
doubt  a  moment ;  fird,  becaufe  it  is  abundantly 
expre  fifed  or  implied  in  Scripture  ;  and  next,  be¬ 
caufe  the  confcioufhefs  of  the  evil  nature  I  carry 
about  with  me,  confirms  the  doctrine  beyond  all 
doubt.  Befides,  is  it  not  faid  in  Scripture,  that 
by  one  man  fin  entered  into  the  world,  and  that 


386 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 

tc  all  we,  like  fheep,  have  gone  affray;  that  by 
one  man’s  difobedience  many  were  made  Tinners;” 
and  To  again  in  twenty  more  places  that  I  could 
tell  you  oT! 

Brag-well.  Well;  I  never  thought  oT  this.  But 
is  not  this  a  very  melancholy  Tort  of  dodtrine,  Mr. 
Worthy  ? 

Worthy .  It  is  melancholy,  indeed,  if  we  Hop 
here.  But  while  we  are  deploring  this  Tad  truth,, 
let  us  take  comfort  from  another,  that  <c  As  in 
Adam  all  die.  To  in  Chrifi  fhall  all  be  made 
alive.”  :■  i  v 

Bragwell.  Yes ;  I  remember  I  thought  thole 
very  fine  words,  when  I  heard  them  Taid  over 
my  poor  father’s  grave.  But  as  it  was  in  the 
Burial  of  the  Dead,  I  did  not  think  of  taking  it 
to  myfelf ;  for  I  was  then  young  and  hearty,  and 
in  little  danger  of  dying,  and  I  have  been  To  bufy 
ever  fince,  that  I  have  hardly  had  time  to  think 
of  it.  -  f  f  ft  '  ^ 

JForthy.  And  yet  the  fervice  pronounced  at 
the  burial  of  all  who  die,  is  a  folemn  admonition 
to  all  who  live.  It  is  there  Taid,  as  indeed  the 
Scripture  fays  alfo,  u  I  am  the  refurredtion  and 
the  life ;  whofoever  helieveth  in  me  Hi  all  never 
die,  but  I  will  raife  him  up  at  the  laft  day.” 
Now  do  you  think  you  believe  in  Chrifi ,  Mr. 
Bragwell  ? 

Bragwell.  To  be  Ture  I  do;  vrhy  you  are 
always  fancying  me  an  Atheifl. 

JForthy.  In  order  to  believe  in  Chrifi:,  we 
muft  believe  firft  in  our  own  guilt  and  out 
own  unworthinefs ;  and  when  we  do  this  we 


The  Iwo  Wealthy  Farmers.  287 

Hall  fee  the  life  of  a  Saviour,  and  not  till 
then. 

Bragwell.  Why,  all  this  is  a  new  way  of 
talking,  I  can’t  fay  I  ever  meddled  withv  fuch 
fubjedts  before  in  my  life.  But  now,  what  do 
you  advife  a  man  to  do  upon  your  plan  of  Re¬ 
ligion  ? 

Worthy.  Why,  all  this  leads  me  back  to 
the  ground  from  which  we  fet  out,  I  mean 
the  duty  of  prayer ;  for  if  we  believe  that  we 
have  an  evil  nature  within  us,  and  that  we 
fland  in  need  of  God’s  grace  to  help  us,  and 
a  Saviour  to  redeem  us,  we  fhall  be  led  of 
courfe  to  pray  for  what  we  fo  much  need and 
without  this  convidtion  we  fhall  not  be  led  to 
pray. 

Bragwell .  Well;  but  don’t  you  think,  Mr. 
Worthy,  that  you  good  folks  who  make  fo 
much  of  prayer,  have  lower  notions  than  we 
have  of  the  wifdom  of  the  Almighty  ?  You 
think  he  wants  to  be  informed  of  the  things 
you  tell  him ;  whereas,  I  take  it  for  granted, 
that  he  knows  them  already,  and  that,  be¬ 
ing  fo  good  as  he  is,  he  will  give  me  every 
thing  he  fees  fit  to  give  me,  without  my  afk- 
ing  it. 

Worthy.  God,  indeed,  who  knows  all  things, 
knows  what  we  want  before  we  afk  him ;  but 
ftill  has  he  not  faid,  <c  that  with  prayer  and  Ap¬ 
plication  we  muft  make  known  our  requefts 
unto  him  ?”  Prayer  is  the  way  in  which  God 
hath  faid  that  his  favour  muft  be  fought.  It. 
is  the  channel  through  which  he  hath  declared 
it  is  his  fovereign  will  and  pleafure  that  his 


1 38  The  Two  Wealthy  Fanners. 

bleffings  fhouid  be  conveyed  to  us.  What 
afcends  up  f  in  prayer  defcends  again  to  us  in 
bleffings.  It  is  like  the  rain  which  juft  now 
fell,  and  which  had  been  drawn  up  from  the 
ground  in  vapours  to  the  clouds  before  it  de~ 
fcended  from  them  to  the  earth  in  that  refreffi- 
ing  fhower.  Befides,  prayer  has  a  good  ef¬ 
fect  on  our  minds ;  it  tends  to  excite  a  right 
dilpofition  towards  God  in  us,  and  to  keep  up  a 
conftant  fenfe  of  our  dependance.  But  above 
all,  it  is  the  way  to  get  the  good  things  we 
want,  u  Afk,”  fays  the  Scripture,  fC  and  ye 
ihall  receive.” 

Bragwell .  Now  that  is  the  very  thing  which 
I  was  going  to  deny.  For  the  truth  is,  men 
do  not  always  get  what  they  afkj  I  believe  if  I 
could  get  a  good  crop  for  afking  it,  I  fhouid  pray 
oftener  than  I  do. 

Worthy .  Sometimes,  Mr  Bragwell,  men cc  afk 
and  receive  not,  becaufe  they  afk  amifs.”  They 
afk  worldly  bleffings,  perhaps,  when  they  ffiould 
afk  fpiritual  ones.  Now  the  latter,  which  are 
the  good  things  I  fpoke  of,  are  always  granted 
to  thofe  who  pray  to  God  for  them,  though  the 
former  are  not.  I  have  obferved  in  the  cafe  of 
fome  worldly  things  I  have  fought  for,  that  the 
grant  of  my  prayer  would  have  caufed  the  mifery 
of  my  life  ;  fo  that  God  equally  confults  our 
good  in  what  he  withholds,  and  in  what  he  be- 
ftows. 

Bragwell.  And  yet  you  continue  to  pray  on, 
I  fuppofe  ? 

Worthy.  Certainly  ;  but  then  I  try  to  mend 
as  to  the  objedt  of  my  prayers.  I  pray  for 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  2  3  q 

God’s  bleffing  and  favour,  which  is  better  than 
riches. 

1 

Bragwell.  You  feem  very  earned;  on  this 
fubjed. 

Worthy .  To  cut  the  matter  ihort;  I  af k 
then,  whether  prayer  is  not  pofuively  com¬ 
manded  in  the  Gofpel  ?  When  this  is  the  cafe, 
we  can  never  difpute  about  the  neceflity  or  the 
duty  of  a  thing,  as  we  may  when  there  is  no 
fuch  command.  Here,  however,  let  me  juft  add 
alfo,  that  a  man’s  prayers  may  be  turned  to  no 
fmall  ufe  in  the  way  of  difcovering  to  him. 
whatever  is  amifs  in  his  life. 

Bragwell,  How  fo,  Mr.  Worthy  ? 

Worthy .  Why,  fuppofe  now,  you  were  to  try 
,  yourfelf  by  turning  into  the  fhape  of  a  prayer 
every  practice  in  which  you  allow  yourfelf.  For 
inftance,  let  the  prayer  in  the  morning  be  a  fort 
of  preparation  for  the  deeds  of  the  day,  and 
the  prayer  at  night  a  fort  of  obfervation  on 
thofe  deeds.  You,  Mr.  Bragwell,  I  fufped,  are 
a  little  inclined  to  covetoufhefs ;  excufe  me.  Sir. 
Now  fuppofe  after  you  have  been  during  a  whole 
day  a  little  too  eager  to  get  rich,  fuppofe,  I  fay, 
you  were  to  try  how  it  would  found  to  beg  of 
God  at  night,  on  your  knees,  to  give  you°fi:ilI 
more  money,  though  you  have  already  fo  much 
that  you  know  not  what  to  do  with  it.  Suppofe 
you  were  to  pray  in  the  morning,  Cf  O  Lord, 
give  me  more  riches,  though  thofe  I  have  are 
a  fnare  and  a  temptation  to  me and  a  Ik  him  in 
the  lame  folemn  manner  to  blefs  all  the  grafp- 
ing  .means  you  intend  to  make  ufe  of  in  the  day 
to  add  to  your  fubflance  ? 


i  go  The  Two  Jfrealthy  Farmers . 

Bragwell.  Mr.  Worthy,  I  have  no  patience 
with  you  for  thinking  I  could  be  fo  wicked. 

Worthy .  Hear  me  out,  Mr.  Bragwell ;  you 
turned  your  good  nephew,  Tom  Broad,  out  of 
doors,  you  know ;  you  owned  to  me  it  was  an 
a<5t  of  injuflice.  Now  fuppofe  on  the  morning 
of  your  doing  fo  you  had  begged  of  God  in  a 
folemn  aft  of  prayer,  to  profper  the  deed  of 
cruelty  and  oppreffion,  which  you  intended  to 
commit  that  day.  I  fee  you  are  fhocked  at  the 
thought  of  fuch  a  prayer.  Well,  then,  would 
not  hearty  prayer  have  kept  you  from  commit¬ 
ting  that  wicked  aftion  ?  In  ihort,  what  a  life 
mull  that  be,  no  aft  of  which  you  dare  beg  God 
to  profper  and  blefs.  If  once  you  can  bring 
yourfelf  to  believe  that  it  is  your  bounden  duty 
to  pray  for  God’s  bleffing  on  your  day’s  work, 
you  will  certainly  grow  careful  about  palfing  fuch 
a  day  as  you  may  fafely  afk  his  bleffing  upon. 
The  remark  maybe  carried  to  fports,  diverfions, 
company.  A  man,  who  once  takes  up  the  ferious 
life  of  prayer,  will  loon  find  himfelf  obliged  to 
abitain  from  fuch  diverfions,  occupations, ,  and 
focieties,  as  he  cannot  reafonably  dehre  that  God 
will  blefs  to  him  ;  and  thus  he  will  fee  himfelf 
compelled  to  leave  off  either  the  practice  or  the 
prayer.  Now,  Mr.  Bragwell,  1  need  not  afk 
you  which  of  the  two  he  that  is  a  real  Chriftian 
will  give  up,  finning  or  praying. 

Mr.  Bragwell  began  to  feel  that  he  had  not  the 
bell  of  the  argument,  and  was  afraid  he  was  mak¬ 
ing  no  great  figure  in  the  eyes  of  his  friend. 
Luckily,  however,  he  was  relieved  from  the  dif¬ 
ficulty  into  which  the  neceffity  of  making  fon^e. 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers ,  i  g  i 

anfwer  muft  have  brought  him,  by  finding  they 
were  come  to  the  end  of  their  little  journey:  and 
he  never  beheld  the  Bunch  of  Grapes,  which  de¬ 
corated  the  Sign  of  the  Golden  Lion,  with  more 
real  fatisfadlion. 

I  refer  my  readers  for  the  tranfaclions  at  the 
Golden  Lion,  and  for  the  fad  Adventures,  which 
afterwards  befel  Mr.  Bragwell’s  family,  to  the 
Fifth  Fart  of  the  Hiflory  of  the  Two  Wealthy 
Farmers. 


*  m 


<  >  '  ..  *■ 

.  ■  ;'i  . 'V  Ma 

...  i . 


o  el -a'. 


'  I 


.  i  111 


192 


The  Two  Wealthy- Farmers. 


PART  V. 


Bragwell  in  a  PaJJion  at  hearing  of  his  Daughter's 

Marriage . 


Mr.  BRAGWELL  and  Mr.  Worthy  alighted 
at  the  Golden  Lion.  '  It  was  market-day :  the 
inn,  the  yard,  the  town,  was  all  alive.  Mr.  Brag¬ 
well  was  quite  in  his  element.  Money,  com¬ 
pany,  and  good  cheer,  always  fet  his  fpirits 
afloat.  He  felt  himfelf  the  principal  man  in  the 
fcene.  He  had  three  great  objects  in  view,  the 
fale  of  his  land,  the  letting  Mr.  Worthy  fee  how 
much  he  was  looked  up  to  by  fo  many  fubftantial 
people,  and  the  fhewing  thefe  people  what  a  wife 


*•  ‘  N  .  • 

The  Two  Wealthy  Fanners *  1 93 

man  his  moft  intimate  friend,  Mr.  Worthy,  was* 
It  was  his  way  to  try  to  borrow  a  little  credit  from 
every  perfon,  and  every  thing  he  was  connected 
with,  and  by  that  credit  to  advance  his  in  ter  eft 
and  increafe  his  wealth. 

The  Farmers  met  in  a  large  room,  and  while 
they  were  tranfadting  their  various  concerns,  thole 
whole  purfuits  were  the  fame,  naturally  herded 
together.  The  Tanners  were  drawn  one 
corner,  by  the  common  intereft  which  they  took 
in  bark  and  hides.  A  ufeful  debate  was  carrying 
on  at  another  little  table,  whether  the  pradtice  of 
j owing  wheat  or  of  planting  it  were  moll  profit¬ 
able.  Another  fet  were  difputing  whether  horfes 
or  oxen  were  beft  for  ploughs.  Thole  who  were 
concerned  in  Canals,  fought  the  company  of  other 
Canallers;  while  fome,  who  were  interefted  in 
the  new  bill  for  Inclofures,  wifely  looked  out  for 
fuch  as  knew  moft  about  wafte  lands. 

Mr.  Worthy  was  pleafed  with  all  thefe  fuh- 
jedls,  and  picked  up  fomething  ufeful  on  each. 
It  was  a  faying  of  his,  that  moll  men  underftood 
fome  one  thing,  and  that  he  who  was  wife  would 
try  to  learn  from  every  man  fomething  on  the 
fubjcdt  he  belt  knew  j  but  Mr.  Worthy  made  a 
further  life  of  the  whole.  What  a  pity  is  it, 

.  ,faid  he,  that  Chriftiansare  not  as  defirous  to  turn 
their  time  to  good  account  as  men  of  bufinefs 
are  !  When  IT  all  we  fee  religious  perfons  as 
anxious  to  derive  profit  from  the  experience  of 
others,  as  thefe  Farmers  ?  When  (hall  we  fee 
them  as  eager  to  turn  their  time  to  good  account  ? 
While  I  approve  thefe  men  for  not  being  doth  fid 

Iv 


194  77?  £  Two  H  ealthy  Farmers. 

m  hufinejs ,  let  me  improve  the  hint,  by  being alfo 
fervent  in  fpirit.  Shewing  how  much  wifer  the 
children  of  this  generation  are  than  the  children  of 
light. 

When  the  hurry  was  a  little  over,  Mr.  Brag- 
well  took  a  turn  on  the  Bowling-green.  Mr. 
Worthy  followed  him,  to  afk  why  the  fale  of  the 
eftate  was  not  brought  forward.  Let  the  Auc¬ 
tioneer  proceed  to  bufmefs,  faid  he  ;  the  com¬ 
pany  will  be  glad  to  get  home  by  day-light.  1 
fpeak  moftly  with  a  view  to  others,  for  I  do  not 
think  of  being  a  purchaler  myfelf. — I  know  it, 
faid  Bragwell,  or  I  would  not  be  fuch  a  fool  as 
to  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag.  But  is  it  really 
pofiible,  (proceeded  he,  with  a  fmile  of  contempt) 
that  you  fhould  think  I  will  fell  my  eftate  before 
dinner?  Mr.  Worthy,  you  are  a  clever  man  at 
books,  and  fuch  things  ;  and  perhaps  can  make 
out  an  account  on  paper  in  a  handfomer  manner 
than  I  can ;  but  I  never  found  much  was  to  be 
got  by  fine  writing.  As  to  figures  I  can  carry 
enough  of  them  in  my  head  to  add,  divide,  and 
multiply,  more  money  than  your  learning  will 
ever  give  you  the  fingering  oh  You  may  beat 
me  at  a  book,  but  you  are  a  very  child  at  a 'bar¬ 
gain.  Sell  my  land  before  dinner,  indeed  ! 

Mr.  Worthy  was  puzzded  to  guefs  how  a  man 
was  to  fliew  more  wifdom  by  felling  a  piece  of 
ground  at  one  hour  than  at  another,  and  de fired 
an  explanation.  Bragwell  felt  rather  more  con¬ 
tempt  for  his  underftanding  than  he  had  ever  done 
before.  Look’ee,  Mr..  Worthy,  faid  he,  I  do 
not  know'  that  knowledge  is  of  any  ufe  to  a  man 
unlefs  he  has  fenfe  enough  to  turn  it  to  account. 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers ,  195 

Men  are  my  Books,  Mr.  Worthy,  and  it  is  by 
reading,  fpeiling,  and  putting  them  together  to 
good  purpofe,  that  I  have  got  up  in  the  world. 
I  flial!  give  you  a  proof  of  this  to-day.  Thefe 
Farmers  are  mod  of  them  come  to  the  Lion  with 
a  view  of  purchafing  this  bit  of  land  of  mine,  if 
they  fhould  like  the  bargain.  Now,  as  you 
know  a  thing  can’t  be  any  great  bargain  both  to 
the  buyer  and  the  feller  too,  to  them  and  to  me, 
it  becomes  me,  as  a  man  of  fenfe,  who  has  the 
good  of  his  family  at.  heart,  to  fecure  the  bargain 
to  myfelf.  I  would  not  cheat  any  min,  Sir,  but 
I  think  it  fair  enough  to  turn  his  weaknefs  to  my 
own  advantage  j  there  is  no  law  againft  that,  you 
know  ;  and  this  is  the  life  of  one  man’s  having 
more  fenfe  than  another.  So,  whenever  I  have 
a  bit  of  land  to  fell,  I  always  give  a  handfome 
dinner,  with  plenty  of  punch  and  drong  beer. 
'We  fill  up  the  morning  with  other  b  11  finds,  and 
I  carefully  keep  back  any  talk  about  the  purchafe 
till  we  have  djned.  At  dinner  we  have,  ofcourfe, 
a  bit  of  politics.  This  puts  mod  of  us  into  a 
paffion,  and  you  know  anger  is  thirdy.  Befides* 
cc  Church  and  King,”  naturally  bring  on  a  good 
many  other  toads.  Now,  as  I  am  Mader  of 
the  Fead,  you  know,  it  would  be  fhabby  in  me 
to  fave  my  liquor,  fo  I  pufh  about  the  glafs  one 
ivay,  and  the  tankard  the  other,  till  all  my  com¬ 
pany  are  as  merry  as  kings.  Every  man  is  de¬ 
lighted  to  fee  what  a  fine  hearty  fellow  he  has  to 
'  deal  with,  arid  Mr.  Bragwell  receives  a  thoufand 
compliments.  By  this  time  they  have  gained 
as  much  in  good  humour  as  they  have  loft  h 

K  2 


196  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

fober  judgment,  and  this  is  the  proper  moment 
for  fetting  the  Auctioneer  to  work,  and  this  I 
commonly  do  to  fuch  good  purpofe,  that  I  go 
home  with  my  purfe  a  {’core  or  two  of  pounds 
heavier  than  if  they  had  not  been  warmed  by 
their  dinner.  In  the  morning  men  are  cool  and 
fufpicious,  and  have  all  their  wits  about  them  s 
but  a  cheerful  glafs  cures  all  diftruft.  And  what 
is  lucky,  I  add  to  my  credit  as  well  as  my  pocket, 
.and  get  more  praife  for  my  dinner,  than  blame  for 
my  bargain. 

Mr.  Worthy  was  ft  ruck  with  the  abfurd  vanity 
which  could  tempt  a  man  to  own  himfelf  guilty 
of  an  unfair  a&ion  for  the  fake  of  {hewing  his 
wifdom.  Fie  was  beginning  to  exprefs  his  dis¬ 
approbation,  when  they  were  told  dinner  was  on 
table.  They  went  in,  and  were  foon  feated. 
All  was  mirth  and  good  cheer.  Every  body 
agreed  that  no  one  gave  fuch  hearty  dinners  as 
Mr.  Brag  well.  Nothing  was  pitiful  wFere  he 
w-as  Mafter  of  the  Feaft.  Bragwell,  who  looked 
with  pleafure  on  the  excellent  dinner  before  him, 
and  enjoyed  the  good  account  to  which  he  *fhould 
turn  it,  heard  their  praifes  with  delight,  and  call 
an  eye  on  Worthy,  as  much  as  to  fay,  Who  is 
the  wife  man  now  ?  Flaving  a  mind,  for  his  own 
credit,  to  make  his  friend  talk,  he  turned  to  him, 
faying,  Mr.  Worthy,  I  believe  no  people  in  the 
world  enjoy  life  more  than  men  of  our  chafs. 
We  have  money  and  power,  we  live  on  the  fat 
of  the  land,  and  have  as  good  a  right  to  gentility 
as  the  be  ft. 

As  to  gentility,  Mr.  Bragwell,  replied  Wor¬ 
thy,  I  am  not  fure  that  this  is  among  the  wifeft 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers ,  i 97 

of  our  pretenfions.  But  I  will  lay,  that  ours  is  a 
creditable  and  refpedtable  bufinefs.  In  ancient 
times,  Farming  was  the  employment  of  Princes 
and  Patriarchs ;  and,  now-a-days,  an  honed, 
humane,  fenfible,  Englilli  yeoman,*  I  will  be 
bold  to  fay,  is  not  only  a  very  ufeful  but  an 
honourable  character.  But  then,  he  mud  not 
merely  think  of  enjoying  life ,  as  you  call  it,  but 
he  mud  think  of  living  up  to  the  great  ends  for 
which  he  was  lent  into  the  world.  A  Wealthy 
Farmer  not  only  has  it  in  his  power  to  live  well, 
but  to  do  much  good.  He  is  not  only  the  fa¬ 
ther  of  his  own  family,  but  of  his  workmen,  his 
dependents,  and  the  poor  at  large,  efpecially  in 
the fe  hard  times.  He  has  it  in  his  power  to  raid 
into  credit  all  the  parifh  offices  which  have  fallen 
into  difrepute,  by  getting  into  bad  hands  ;  and  he 
can  convert,  what  have  been  falfeiy  thought  mean 
offices,  into  very  important  ones,  by  his  jud  and 
Chriftian-like  manner  of  filling  them.  An  up¬ 
right  Juryman,  a  confcientious  Condable,  a  hu- 
.mane  Overfeer,  an  independent  Eledor,  an 
active  Superintendant  of  a  Work-houfe,  a  jud 
Arbitrator  in  public  difputes,  a  kind  Coimfellor 
in  private  troubles fuch  a  one  I  lay,  fills  up  a 
dation  in  fociety  no  Ids  neceffary,  and,  as  far  as 
it  reaches,  fcarcely  lefs  important  than  that  of  a 
Magidrate,  a  Sheriff  of  a  County,  or  even  a  Me  nu¬ 
mber  of  Parliament.  That  can  never  be  a  flight  or 
a  degrading  office,  on  which  the  happinefs  of  a 
whole  parilli  may  depend. 

Bragwell,  who  thought  the  good  fenfe  of  his. 
friend  refle&ed  credit  on  himfclf,  encouraged 

•  k3 


r  98  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers * 

W orthy  to  go  on,  but  he  did  it  in  his  own  vain 
.  way.  Aye,,  very  true,  Mr.  Worthy,  faid  he,  you 
are  right ;  a  leading  man  in  our  clafs  ought  to 
be  looked  up  to  as  an  example,  as  you  fay ;  in 
order  to  which,  he  fhould  do  things  handfomely 
and  liberally,  and  not  grudge  himfelf,  or  his 
friends  any  thing,  calling  an  eye  of  complacency 
on  the  good  dinner  he  had  provided.  True,  re¬ 
plied  Mr.  Worthy,  he  fhould  be  an  example  of 
limplicity,  fobriety,  and  plainnefs  of  manners. 
But  he  will  do  well,  added  he,  not  to  affcd  a 
frothy  gentility,  which  will  fet  but  clumfily  upon 
him.  If  he  has  money  let  him  fpend  prudently, 
lay  up  moderately  for  his  children,  and  give  libe¬ 
rally  to  the  poor.  But  let  him  rather  feek  to 
dignify  his  own  flation  by  his  virtues,  than  to 
get  above  it  by  his  vanity.  If  he  a6ls  thus, 
then, ‘as  long  as  this  country  lafts,  a  Farmer  of 
England  will  be  looked  upon  as  one  of  its  moll 
valuable  members ;  nay  more,  by  this  conduct 
he  may  contribute  to  make  England  laft  the 
longer.  The  riches  of  the  Farmer,  corn  and  cat¬ 
tle,  are  the  true  riches  of  a  nation  ;  but  let  him 
remember,  that  though  corn  and  cattle  enrich  a 
country,  nothing  but  juftice,  integrity,  and  reli¬ 
gion,  can  prefer ve  it . 

Young  Wilfon,  the  worthy  grazier,  whom  Mils 
Bragweli  had  turned  off  becaufe  he  did  not  un¬ 
derhand  French  dances,  thanked  Mr.  Worthy  for 
what  he  had  faid,  and  hoped  he  fhould  be  the 
better  for  it  as  long  as  he  lived,  and  defired  his 
leave  to  be  better  acquainted.  Moll  of  the 
others  declared  they  had  never  heard  a  finer 
fpeech,  and  then,  as  is  ufual,  proceeded  to  Ihew 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  199 

the  good  effedt  it  had  on  them,  by  loofe  conver- 
fation,  hard  drinking,  and  whatever  could  counter-' 
act  all  that  Mr.  Worthy  had  faid. 

Mr  W orthy  was  much  concerned  to  hear  Mr. 
Brag  we  11,  after  dinner,  whifper  to  the  waiter,  to 
put  lefs  and  lefs  water  into  every  frefh  bowl  of 
punch.- — This  was  his  way  j  if  the  time  they  had 
to  fit  was  long,  then  the  punch  was  to  be  weaker, 
as  he  law  no  good  in  wafting  money  to  make  it 
Wronger  than  "the  time  required.  But  if  time 
prefled,  then  the  f  rength  was  to  be  encreafed  in 
due  proportion,  as  a  fmall  quantity  mud  then 
intoxicate  them  as  much  in  a  fhort  time  as  would 
be  required  of  a  greater  quantity  had  the  time 
been  longer.  This  was  one  of  Mr.  Bragwells 
nice  calculations,  and  this  was  the  fort  of  (kill  on 
which  he  fo  much  valued  himfelf.- 

At  length  the  gueds  were  properly  primed  for 
bufinefs  y  juft  in  that  convenient  ftage  of  intoxi¬ 
cation  which  makes  men  warm  and  rafh,  yet 
keeps  fhort  of  that  abfoiure  drunkennefs,  which 
di  (qualifies-  for  bufinefs..  The  Audtioneer  fet  to 
work.  All  were  bidders,  and,,  if  pofhble,  all 
would  have  been  purchafers,  fo  happily  had  the 
fead  and  the  punch  operated.  They  bid  on  with 
a  dill  increafing  fpirit,  till  they  had  got  fo  much 
above  the  value  of  the  land,,  that  Bragwell,  with 
a  wink  and  a  whifper,  faid,  Who  would  fell  his 
land  fading  ?  Eh  [  Worthy  ?  At  length  thr  edate 
was  knocked  down,  at  a  price  very  far  above  its 
worth.. 

As  foon  as  it  was  fold,  Braswell  again  faid 
fodly  to  Worthy,  Five  from  fifty,  and  there. -re*-* 

K-  4 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

main  forty- five.  The  dinner  and  drink  wont  coft 
me  five  pounds,  and  I  have  got  fifty  more  than 
the  land  was  worth.  Spend  a  fhilling  to  gain  a 
pound,  this  is  what  I  call  p radical  Arithmetic, 
Mr.  Worthy. 

Mr.  Worthy  was  glad  to  get  out  of  this  fcerie  ; 

*  and  feeing  that  his  friend  was  quite  fober,  he  re- 
folved,  as  they  rode  home,  to  deal  plainly  with 
-him..  Bragwell  had  found  out,  among  his  cal¬ 
culations,  that  there  were  fome  fins  which  could 
only  be  committed,  by  a  prudent  man,  one  at  a 
time,  Bor  inftance,  he  knew  that  a  man  could 
not  well  get  rich,  and  get  drunk  at  the  fame  mo¬ 
ment,  fo  that  he  ufed  to  pradife  one  firft,  and 
the  other  after ;  but  he  had  found  out  that  fome 
vices  made  very  good  company  together  5  thus, 
while  he  had  watched  himfelf  in  drinking,  left 
he  fhould  become  as  unfit  to  fell,  as  his  guefts 
were  to  buy,  he  had  indulged,  without  meafure, 
in  the  good  dinner  he  had  provided.  Mr.  Wor¬ 
thy,  I  fay,  feeing  him  able  to  bear  reafon,  re¬ 
buked  him  for  this  day’s  proceedings,  with  fome 
feverity.  Bragwell  bore  his  reproofs  with  that 
fort  of  patience  which  arifes  from  an  opinion  of 
one's  own  wifdom,  and  a  recent  tiufh  of  prof- 
perity.  He  behaveei  with  that  gay,  good  hu¬ 
mour  which  grows  out  of  vanity  and  good  luck. 
You  are  too  fqueamifh,  Mr.  Worthy,  laid  he,  I 
have  done  nothing  difcreditable.  Thefe  men 
came  with  their  eyes  open.  There  is  no  compul- 
lion  ufed.  They  are  free  to  bid,  or  to  let  it  alone. 

I  make  them  welcome,  and  I  fhali  not  be  thought 
a  bit  the  worfe  of  by  them,  to-morrow,  when 
they  are  fober.  Others  do  it  befides  me,  and  I 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  201 

fli all  never  be  afhamed  of  any  thing,  as  long  as 
I  have  cuftom  on  my  fide. 

Worthy .  I  am  forty,  Mr.  Bragwell,  to  hear 
you  fupport  fuch  practices  by  fuch  arguments. 
There  is  not,  perhaps,  a  more  dangerous  fnare 
to  the  fouls  of  men  than  is  to  be  found  in  that 
word  Custom.41  It  is  a  word  invented  to  recon¬ 
cile  corruption  with  credit,  and  fin  with  fafety 
But  no  cuftom,  no  fafhion,  no  combination  o 
men,  to  fet  up  a  falfe  ftandard,  can  ever  make  a 
wrong  action  right.  That  a  thing  is  often  done, 
is  fo  far  from  a  proof  of  its  being  right,  that  it 
is  the  very  reafon  which  will  fet  a  thinking  man 
to  inquire  if  it  be  not  really  wrong,  left  he  fhould 
be  following  a  cc  multitude  to  do  evil.”*  Right 
is  right,  though  only  one  man  in  a  thoufand  pur- 
fues  it,  and  wrong  will  be  for  ever  wrong,  though 
it  be  the  allowed  practice  of  the  other  nine  hun¬ 
dred  and  ninety-nine.  If  this  fhameful  cuftom. 
is  really  common,  which  I  can  hardly  believe, 
that  is  a  frefh  reafon  why  a  confcientious  man 
fhould  fet  his  face  a  gain  ft  it.  And  I  muftgo  fo 
far  as  to  fay,  (you  will  excufe  me,  Mr.  Bragwell,) 
that  I  fee  no  great  difference  in  the  eye  of  con- 
fcience,  whatever  there  may  be  in  the  eye  of  law,, 
between  your  making  a  man  firft  lofe  his  reafon,, 
and  then  getting  fifty  guineas  out  of  his  pocket,, 
hecaufe  he  ha?  loft  it  .and  your  picking  the  fifty 
guineas  out  of  his  pocket,  if  you  had  met  him? 
dead  drunk  in  his  way  home  to  night..  Nay,, 
he  who,  meets  a  man  already  drunk  and  robs  him,, 
commits  but  one  fin,  while  he  who  makes  him. 

-  - ;  o  k  5. 


f't'j  o. 


2Q2  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers, 

drunk  firft,  that  he  may  rob  him  afterwards,  com¬ 
mits  two. 

Eragwel]  gravely  replied,  Mr.  Worthy,  while 
I  have  the  practice  of  people  of  credit  to  fupport 
me,  and  the  law  of  the  land  to  protect  me  I  fee 
no  reafon  to  be  afhamed  of  any  thing,  I  do. — - 
Mr.  Bragwell,  anfwered  Worthy,  a  truly  honed 
man  is  not  always  looking  fharp  about  him,  to  fee 
how  far  cuftom  and  the  law  will  bear  him  out;  if 
he  be  honeft  on  principle,  he  will  confult  the  law 
of  his  confcience,  and  if  he  be  a  Chriftian,  he  will 
confult  the  written  law  of  God. 

Notwithdanding  this  rebuff,  Mr.  Bragwell  got 
home  in  high  fpirits,  for  no  arguments  could 
hinder  him  from  feeling  that  he  had  the  fifty 
guineas  in  his  purfe.  As  foon  as  he  came  in,  he 
gaily  threw  the  money  he  had  received  on  the 
table,  and  defired  his  wife  to  lock  it  up.  Jnftead 
of  receiving  it  with  her  ufual  fatisfaclion,  floe 
burft  into  a  violent  fit  of  paffion,  and  threw  it 
back  to  him.  You  may  keep  your  cafh  yourfelf, 
faid  fhe.  It  is  all  over  :  we  want  no  more  money. 
You  are  a  ruined  man  1  A  wicked  creature, 
fcraping  and  working  as  we  have  done  for  her  ! 
Bragwell  trembled,  but  durd  not  afk  what  he 
dreaded  to  hear.  His  wife'  fpared  him  the  trou¬ 
ble,  by  crying  out,  as  foon  as  her  rage  permitted* 
Polly  is  gone  off  !  Poor  Bragwell’s  heart  funk 
within  him  ;  he  grew  fick  and  giddy  ;  and  as  his 
wife’s  rage  fwaliowed  up  her  grief*  fo,  in  his  grief, 
he  almoft  forgot  his  anger.  The  purfe  fell  from 
his  hand,  and  he  caf!  a  look  of  anguifh  upon  it, 
finding,  for  the  find  time,  that  money  could  not 
rcfieve  his  mifery. 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers •  -  203 

Mr.  Worthy,  who  though  much  concerned, 
was  lefs  difcompofed,  now  called  to  mind,  that 
the  young  lady  had  not  returned  with  her  mother 
and  lifter  the  night  before  he  begged  Mrs*.. 
Bragwell  to  explain  this  fad  ftory.  She,  inftead 
of  foothing  her  hufba-nd,  fell  to  reproaching  him. 

It  is  all  your  fault,  laid  fhe,  you  were  a  fool  for 
your  pains.  If  I  had  had  my  way,  the  gills 
never  would  have  kept  company  with  any  but 
men  of  fubftance,  and  then  they  could  not  have 
been  ruined..  Mrs.  Bragwell,  faid  Mf.  Worthy, . 
if  fhe  has  chofen  a  bad  man,  it  would  be  (till  a, 
misfortune, .  even  though  he  had  been  rich.  O > 
that  would  alter  the  cafe,  faid  fhe  ;  a  fat  'for  row 
is  better,  than  a  lean  one.  But  to  marry  a  beggar ! 
there  is  no  fin  like  that. .  Here  Mils  Betfy,  who  > 
flood  fullenly  by,  put  in  a  word,  and  faid,  her 
filler,  however, ~  had  not  difgraced  herfelf  by. 
having,  married  a  Farmer  or  a  trade fman,  -  fhe 
had,  at  le aft, ,  made  choice  of  a  Gentleman. 
What  marriage!  what  1  Gentleman  !  cried  the 
affl  idled  father. .  Tell  me.  the  v/orft  !  He  was  > 
now  informed  that  his  darling  daughter  was  gone 
off' with  a- ft  rolling- player,  who  had  been  adting 
in  the  neighbouring  villages  lately.  Mifs  Betfy 
again  put  in,  .faying,  he  was  no  ftroller,  But  a  . 
Gentleman  in  difguile,  who  only  adled  for  his 
own  diverfton. .  Does  he  fo  ?  faid  the  now  furi¬ 
ous  Bragwell,  then  he.  flaall  be  trani ported  fort 
mine.  At  this  moment  a  letter  was.  brought  him  * 
from  his  new  fon-in-law,  who  defired  .his  leave 
to  wait  upon  him,  and  implore  his  forgive nefs. 
He  owned  he  had  been  fhopman  to  a  haber- 
dafher,  but  thinking  his  perfon  and  talents,  ought 

K  .6 » 


204  The  Two  JF °,althy  Farmers. 

not  to  be  thrown  away  upon  trade,  and  beinp* 
aLo  a  little  behind  hand,  he  had  taken  to  the 
Itage  with  a  view  of  making  his  fortune.  That 
he  had  married  Mils  Bragwell  entirely  for  love, 
and  was  forry  to  mention  fo  paltry  a  thing  as 
money,  which  he  defpifed,  but  that  his  wants 
were  preffing ;  his  landlord,  to  whom  he  was  in 
Ciebt,^  having  been  fo  vulgar  as  to  threaten  to 
fend  him  to  prifon.  He  ended  with  faying,  I 
have  been  obliged  to  fhock  your  daughter’s  deli¬ 
cacy,  by  confefhng  my  unlucky  real  name;  I 
bencvC  I  owe  part  of  my  fuccels  with  her  to  my 
having  aiTumed  that  of  Augufhis  Frederic  Theo- 
dofius.  She  is  inconfolable  at  this  confelhon, 
which,  as  you  are  now  my  father,  I  muft  alfo 
make  to  you,  and  fubfcribe  myfelf^  with  many 

biufnes,  by  the  vulgar  name  of  your  dutiful 
Ton, 

Timothy  Incle. 

O,  cried  the  affli&ed  father,  as  he  tore  the  let¬ 
ter  in  a  rage,  Mifs  Bragwell  married  to  a  ftrol- 
Jing  ador  !  How  fhall  I  bear  it  ?  Why,  I  would 
not  bear  it  at  all,  cried  the  enraged  mother,  I 
would  never  iee  her,  I  would  never  forgive  her. 

I  would  let  her  ftarve  at  one  corner  of  the  barn, 
while  that  rafcal,  with  all  thofe  Pagan,  Popifh 
names,  was  ranting  away  at  the  other.  Nay, 
faid  Mifs  Betfy,  if  he  is  only  a  fhopman,  and  if 
his  name  oe  really  T  imothy  Incle,  I  would  never 
forgive  her  neither.  But  who  would  have  thought 
it  by.  his  looks,  and  by  his  monltrous  genteel 
behaviour  p  no,  he  never  can  have  fo  vulgar 
a  name. 

Come,  come,  faid  Mr.  Worthy,  were  he  really 


I 


V 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  205 

an  honeft  haberdafher,  I  fhould  think  there  was 
no  other  harm  done*  except  the  difobedience  of 
the  thing.  Mr.  Bragwell,  this  is  no  time  to 
blame  you,  or  hardly  to  reafon  with  you,  I 
feel  for  you  fincerely.  I  ought  not,  perhaps, 
juft  at  prefent,  to  reproach  you  for  the  miftaken 
manner  in  which  you  have  bred  up  your  daugh¬ 
ters,  as  your  error  has  brought  its  punifhment 
along  with  it.  You  now  fee,  becaufe  you  now 
feel  the  evil  of  a  falfe  education.  It  has  ruined 
your  daughter  ;  your  whole  plan  unavoidably  led 
to  fome  fuch  end.  The  large  fums  you  fpent 
to  qualify  them,  as  you  thought,  for  a  high  na¬ 
tion,  could  do  them  nothing  but  harm,  while 
your  habits  of  life  properly  confined  them  to 
company  of  a  lower  ftation.  While  they  were 
better  dreft  than  the  daughters  of  the  firft  gentry, 
they  were  worfe  taught,  as  to  real  knowledge, 
than  the  daughters  of  your  plowmen.  Their 
vanity  has  been  raifed  by  exceftive  finery,  and 
kept  alive  by  exceftive  flattery.  Every  evil 
temper  has  been  foftered  by  indulgence.  Their 
pride  has  never  been  controuled  ;  their  felf-will 
has  never  been  fubdued.  Their  idlenefs  has  laid 
them  open  to  every  temptation,  and  their  abun¬ 
dance  has  enabled  them  to  gratify  every  defire. 
Their  time,  that  precious  talent,  has  been  en¬ 
tirely  wafted.  Every  thing  they  have  been  taught 
to  do ’is  of  no  ufe,  while  they  are  utterly  unac¬ 
quainted  with  all  which  they  ought  to  have 
known.  I  deplore  Mifs  Polly's  falfe  ftep.  That 
Ike  fhould  have  married  a  run-away  fhopman, 
turned  ftroller,  I  truly  lament.  But,  for  what 
hufband  was  fhe  qualified  ?  For  the  wife  of  a 


Tfo  Two  Wealthy  Farmers  i . 

farmer  fhe  was  too  idle.-  For  the  wife  of  a 
I  radefman  fhe  was  too  expen  five.  For  the 
wife  of  a  Gentleman  .  fhe  was  too  ignorant.  You 
yourfelf  was  mo  ft  to  blame.  You  expe&ed  her 
to  a  cl  wifely,  though  you  never  taught  her  that 
fear  of  God  which  is  the  beginning  of  wifdom.  I 
owe  k  to  you,  as  a  friend,  and  to  myfdf  as  a 
Chiiiiian,.  to  declare,  that  your  practices  in 
the  common  tranfa&ions  of  life,  as  well  as 
your  pre-fen t  misfortune,,  are  almoft  the  na- 
tuial  co nfeq uences  of  thole  falfe  principles, 
which  I  protefted  againft  when  you  were  at 
my  houfe 

Mrs.  Brag  well  attempted  feverab  times*  to  in¬ 
terrupt  Mr.  Worthy,-.,  but  her.  hufband  would  not' 
permit  it.  lie  felt  the  force  of  all  his  friend  faid, 
and  encouraged  him  to  proceed.  Mr.  Worthy. • 
thus  went  on.  .It  grieves  me  to  fay  how  much* 
your  own  indiferetion  has  contributed  even  to  * 
bring  on  your  prefent  misfortune.  You  gave  * 
your  countenance  to  this  very  company  of;  ftrol- 
lers,  though  you  knew  they  are  afling  in  defiance, 
to  the  laws  of  the  land,  to  lay  no  worfe..  They 
go.  from  town  to  town,  and  from  barn  to  barn, . 
Gripping  the  poor  of  their  money,  the  young  of 
their  innocehee,  and  all  of  their  time-.  ’D6°you 
remember  with  holv  much  pride  you  told  me 
that  you  had  befpoke  The.  Bold  Stroke  for  a,  Wife ,  \ 
for  the  benefit  of  this  very  Mr.  Frederic  Theo- 
dofius  ?  To  this  pernicious  ribaldry  you  not . 
only  carried  your  own  family,  but  wafted  I 


*  See  Second  Part  of  Two  Farmers. 


The  Two  Wealth j  Farmers .  207' 

know  not  how  much  money  in  treating  your’ 
workmens’  wives  and  children,  in  thefe  hard 
times  too,  when  they  have  iearcely  bread  to  eat, 
or  a  fhoe  on  their  feet.  And  all  this  only  that: 
you  might  have  the  abfurd  pleafure  of  feeing 
thole  flattering  words,  By  Defire  of.  Mr.  Brag- 
welly  ftuck  up  in  Print  at  the  Public-houfe,  on  the 
Blackfimith’s  [bed,  at  the  Turnpike-gate,, and  on- 
the  Barn-door. 

Mr..  Bragwell  acknowledged  that  his  friend’s- 
rebuke  was  but  too  juft,  and  he  looked  fo  very 
contrite  as  to  raife  the  pity  of  Mr.  Worthy,, 
who,  in  a  mild  voice,  thus  went  om  What  I 
have  faid  is  not  lo  much  to  reproach  you  with 
the  ruin  of  one  daughter,  as  from  a.  defire  to- 
fa ve  the  other.  Let  Mifs  Betly  go  home  with, 
me*  I  do  not  undertake  to  be  her  gaoler,  but  I 
will  be  her  friend.  She  will  find  in  my  daugh¬ 
ters  kind  companions,  and  in  my.  wife  a  prudent 
guide.  I  know  {he  will  diflike  us  at  firft,  but  I 
do  not  defpair  in  time  of  convincing  her  that  a 
fober,  humble,  ufeful,  pious  life,  is  as  neceflary 
to  make  us  happy  on  earth,  as  k  is  to  fit  us  for 
heaven. 

Poor  Mifs  Betfy,  though  fhe  declared  it 
would  be  frightful  dull>  and  monftrous  vulgar ,  and 
difmal  melancholy ,  yet  was  fhe  fo  terrified  at  the 
difcontent  and  grumbling  which  fhe  would  have 
to  endure  at  home,  that  fhe  fullenly  confented. 
She  had  none  of  that  filial  tcndernefs  which  led 
her  to  wifh  to  flay  and  footh  and  comfort  her 
affli&ed  father.  All  fhe  thought  about  was  to 
get  out  of  the  way  of  her  mother’s  ill  humour. 


lo  8  The  Two  JVealthy  Farmers . 

and  to  carry  fo  much  finery  with  her  as  to  fill  the 
Mifs  Worthies,  with  envy  and  refped.  Poor 
girl  !  fhe  did  not  know  that  envy  was  a  feelino* 
they  never  indulged  ;  and  that  fine  clothes  was 
the  laft  thing  to  draw  their  refpedt.  Mr.  Wor¬ 
thy  took  her.  home  next  day.  When  they  reached 
his  houfe,  they  found  there  young  Wilfon,  Mifs 
Betfy’s  old  admirer.  She  was  much  pleafed  at 
this,  and  refolved  to  treat  him  well.  But  her 
good  or  ill  treatment  now  fignified-  but  little. 
This  young  Grazier  reverenced  Mr.  Worthy’s 
character,  and  ever  fince  he  had  met  him  at  the 
Lion,  had  been  thinking  what  a  happinefs  it 
would  be  to  marry  a  young  woman  bred  up 
by  fuch  a  father.  He  had  heard  much  of  the 
modefty  and  difcretion  of  both  the  daughters,  but 
his  inclination  now  determined  him  in  favour  of 
the  elder. 

Mr.  Worthy,  who  knew  him  to  be  a  youno- 
man  of  good  fenfe  and  found  principles,  allowed 
him  to  become  a  vifitor  at  his  houfe,  but  de¬ 
ferred  his  confent  to  the  marriage  till  he  knew 
him  more  thoroughly.  Mr.  Wilfon,  from  what 
he  faw  of  the  domeftic  piety  of  this  family,  im¬ 
proved  daily,  both  in  the  knowledge  and  prac¬ 
tice  of  religion,  and  Mr.  Worthy  foon  formed 
him  into  a  moft  valuable  character.  During 
this  time  Mifs  Bragwell’s  hopes  had  revived,' 
but  though  fhe  appeared  in  a  new  drefs  al~ 
moft  every  day,  fhe  had  the  mortification  of 
being  beheld  with  great  indifference  by  one 
whom  fhe  had  always  fecretly  liked.  Mr.  Wil¬ 
fon  married  before  her  face  a  girl  who  was 


¥ 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 


greatly  her  inferior  in  fortune,  perfon,  and  ap¬ 
pearance,  blit  who  was  humble,  frugal,  meek, 
and  pious.  Mifs  Bragwell  now  ftrongly  felt  the 
truth  of  what  Mr.  Wilfon  had  once  told  her, 
that  a  woman  may  make  an  excellent  partner 
for  a  dance,  who  would  make  a  very  bad  one 
for  life. 

Hitherto  Mr.  Bragwell  and  his  daughters  had 
only  learnt  to  regret  their  folly  and  vanity,  as  it 
had  produced  them  mortification  in  this  life  > 
•whether  they  were  ever  brought  to  a  more  ferious 
fenfe  of  their  errors,  may  be  feen  in  a  future  part 
of  this  hiftory, 

9  _ 


f 


V.N 


Tfre  l  wo  Wealthy  Fanners, 


2\ 0 


PART  VL 

/ 

Mr.BRAGWELL  was  fo  much  affixed  ajv 
the  disgraceful  marriage  of  his  daughter,  who 
ran  off  with  Timothy  Incler  the  fbollimr-playeiy 
that  he  never  foliy  recovered  his  fpiriTs,  His- 
c  leer  u.nc  is,,  ^  which  hail  an  fen  from  an  high  opi- 
ii ion  of  hunfelr,  had  been  confirmed  by  a  con* 
Jiant  flow  of  uninterrupted  fuccefs ;  and  that  is 
a  fort  of  cheerfulncfs  which  is  very  liable  to  be 
impaired,  oecau'e  it  lies  at  the  mercy  of  every 
accident  and  crofs  event  in  life.  But  though  his 
pude  was  now  difappointed,  his  misfortunes  had 
nor  taught  him  any  humility,  becaufe  he  had  not 
uncovered  that  they  were  caufed  by  his  own- 
fault;  nor  had  he  acquired  any  patience  or  fub- 
miflion,  becaufe  he  had  not  learnt  that  all  afflic¬ 
tion.,  com...  horn  the  hand  of  God  to  awaken  us- 
to  a  deep  fenfe  of  our  fins,,  and  to  draw  off  our 
hearts  from  the  perifhing  vanities  of  this  life.. 
Befides,  Mr.  Bragwell  was  one  of  thofe  people,, 
who,  even  if  they  would  be  thought  to  bear 
wit  1  tolerable  iubmiffion  fuch  trials  as  appear  to- 
be  lent  more  immediately  from  Providence,  yet’ 
think  they  have  a  fort  of  right  to  rebel  at  every 
misfortune  which  befals  them  through  the  fault 
of  a  fellow-creature ;  as  if  our  fellow- creatures 
were  not  the  agents  and  inftruments  by  which 
Providence  often  fees  fit  to  try  or  to  punifli  us. 

* nis  tttipruoent  daughter,  Bragwell  would  not 
be  brought  to.  fee  or  forgive,  nor  was  the  de- 


21 1 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

grading  name  of  Mrs.  Incle  ever  allowed  to  be 
pronounced  in  bis  hearing.  He  had  loved  her 
with  an  exceflive  and  undue  affe&ion  ;  and  while 
fhe  gratified  his  vanity  by  her  beauty  and  finery, 
he  deemed  her  faults  of  little  confequence;  but 
when  (he  difappointed  his  ambition  by  a  difgrace- 
ful  carriage,  all  his  natural  affcbUon  only  feived 
to  increafe  his  refentment.  Yet,  though  he  re¬ 
gretted  her  crime  lefs  than  his  own  mortincation, 
he  never  ceafed  in  lecret  to  lament  herdofs.  She 
foon  found  out  fhe  was  undone,  and  wrote  in^a 
flrain  of  bitter  repentance  to  afk  his  forgivenefs. 
She  owned  that  her  hufband,  whom  (lie  had  fup- 
•  poled  to  be  a  man  of  fafhion  in  difguife,  was  a 
iow  perfon  in  diftreffed  circumflances.  She  im¬ 
plored  that  her  father,  though  he  refufed  to  give 
her  hufband  that  fortune  for  which  alone  it  was 
now  too  plain  he  had  married  her,  would  at  leaf! 
allow  her  fome  fubfiftence,  for  that  Mr.  Incle  was 
much  in  debt,  and  fhe  feared  in  danger  of  a  goal. 
The  father’s  heart  was  half  melted  at  this  account, 
and  his  affeftion  was  for  a  time  awakened.  But 
Mrs.  Bragwell  oppofed  his  lending  her  any  affift- 
ance.  She  always  made  it  a  point  of  duty  never 
to  forgive;  (c  for  fhe  faid  it  only  encouiaged 
thofe  who  had  done  wrong  once  to  do  worfe  next 
time.  For  her  part  Hie  had  never  yet  been  guilty 
of  fo  mean  and  pitiful  a  weakness  as  to  forgive  any 
one  ;  for  to  pardon  an  injury  always  fhewed  either 
want  of  fpirit  to  feel  it,  or  want  of  power  to  reient 
it.  She  was  refolved  fhe  would  never  fquander 
the  money  for  which  fhe  had  worked  early  and 
late,  on  a  baggage  who  had  thrown  herfelf  away 
on  a  beggar,  while  flic  had  a  daughter  fingle  who:-- 


<212 


l  he  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

might  raife  her  family  by  a  great  match.”  I  am 
lorry  to  fay  that  Mrs.  Bragwell’s  anger  was  not 
owing  to. the  undutifulnefs  of  the  daughter,  or  the 
wortnleflnefs  of  the  hufband  ;  poverty  was  in  her 
C7es  the  grand  crime.  The  dodrine  offoro-ive- 

nr  A/raS^rcll^ous  PrincTJe>  made  no  more  a  part 
°  Mr.  Bragwell’s  fyftem  than  of  his  wife’s*  but 
in  natural  feeling,  particularly  for  this  offending 
daughter,  he  much  exceeded  her. 

In  a  few  months,  the  youngeft  Mifs  Brag  well 
deii red  leave  to  return  home  from  Mr.  Worthy’s, 
one  had*  indeed,  only  confented  to  go  thither  as 
a  lefs  evil  of  the  two  than  flaying  in  her  father’s 
houfe  after  her  filler’s  elopement.  But  the  fa¬ 
bric  ty  and  fimplicity  of  Mr.  Worthy’s  family  were 
ircfome  to  her.  Habits  of  vanity  and  idlenefs 
v/ere  become  fo  rooted  in  her  mind,  that  any  de- 
giee  of  reflraint  was  a  burthen  ;  and  though  fhe 
was  outwardly  civil,  it  was  eafyto  fee  that  fh^lonor- 
ed  to  get  away.  She  refolved,  however,  to  profit 
by  her  filter’s  faults  ;  and  made  her  parents  eafyby 
alluring  them  flie  never  would  throw  herfelf  away 
on  a  man  who  was  worth  nothing.  Encouraged 
by  thefe  promifes,  which  were  all  that  her  parents 
thought  they  could  in  reafon  exped,  her  father 
allowed  her  to  come  home. 

Mr.  Vy  orthy,  who  accompanied  her,  found  Mr 
Bragwell  gloomy  and  dejeded.  As  his  houfe  was 
no  longer  a  fcene  of  vanity  and  feflivity,  Mr  Brag- 
well  tried  to  make  himfelf  and  his  friend  believe 
tnat  he  was  grown  religious  s  whereas  he  was  only 
Mcorne  diicontented.  As  he  had  always  fancied 
tnat  piety  was  a  melancholy  gloomy  thing,  and  as 
‘e  3  own  1Tiind  really  gloomy,  he  was  willing 


~  1 3 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

.  to  think  that  he  was  growing  pious.  Fie  had,  in¬ 
deed,  gone  more  conftantly  to  church,  and  had 
taken  lefs  pleafure  in  feafting  and  cards,  and  now 
and  then  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible ;  but  all  this 
was  becaufe  his  fpirits  were  low,  and  not  becaufe 
his  heart  was  .changed.  The  outward  actions 
were  more  regular,  but  the  inward  man  was  the 
fame.  The  forms  of  religion  were  reforted  to  as 
a  painful  duty  \  but  this  only  added  to  his  mifery, 
while  he  was  utterly  ignorant  of  its  fpirit  and  its 
power.  He  {fill,  however,  referved  religion  as  a 
loathfome  medicine,  to  which  he  feared  he  mult 
have  recourfe  at  laft,  and  of  which  he  even  now 
confidered every  abftinence  from  pleafure,  or  every 
exercife  of  piety  as  a  bitter  dofe.  His  health  alfo 
was  impaired,  fo  that  his  friend  found  him  in  a 
pitiable  ftate,  neither  able  to  receive  plealure  from 
the  world,  which  he  fo  dearly  loved,  nor  from 
religion  which  he  fo  greatly  feared.  He  expedted 

'  to  have  been  much  commended  by  W orthy  for 
the  change  in  his  way  of  life  ;  but  Worthy,  who 
faw  that  the  alteration  was  only  owing  to  the  lofs 
of  animal  fpirits,  and  to  the  cafual  abfence  of 
temptation,  was  cautious  of  flattering  him  too 
much.  <c  i  thought,  Mr.  Worthy,”  faid  he,  to 
have  received  more  comfort  from  you.  I  was 
told  too,  that  religion  v/as  full  of  comfort,  but  I 
do  not  much  find  it.”  You  were  told  the  truth, 
replied  Worthy,  Religion  is  full  of  comfort,  but 
you  muff  firfl  be  brought  into  a  ftate  fit  to  receive 
it  before  it  can  become  fo  ;  you  mu  ft  be  brought 
to  a  deep  and  humbling  fenfe  of  fin.  To  give 
you  comfort  while  you  are  puffed  up  with  high 
thoughtsof  yourfelf,  would  be  to  give  you  a  ftrong 


t 


214  The  Two  llreallhy  Fanners. 

cordial  in  a  high  fever.  Religion  keeps  back  her 
cordials  till  the  patient  is  lowered  and  emptied  ; 
emptied  of  felf,  Mr.  Bragwell.  If  you  had  a 
wounds  it  mu  ft  be  examined  and  clean  fed,  aye, 
and  probed  too,  before  it  would  be  fafe  to  put  on 
a  healing  plaifter.  Curing  it  to  the  outward  eye, 
while  it  was  corrupt  at  bottom,  would  only  bring 
on  a  mortification,  and  you  would  be  a  dead  man 
while  you  trufted  that  the  plaifter  was  curing  you. 
You  rauft  be,  indeed,  a  Chriftian,  before  you  can 
be  entitled  to  the  comforts  of  Chriftianity. — I  am 
•a  Chriftian,  faid  Bragwell,  many  of  my  friends  are 
Chriftians,  but  I  do  not  fee  it  has  done  us  much 
good. — Chriftianity  itfelf,  anfwered  Worthy,  can  ¬ 
not  make  us  good  unlefs  it  be  applied  to  our  hearts. 
•Chriftian  privileges  will  not  make  us  Chriftians 
unlefs  we  make  ufe  of  them.  On  that  ftielf  I  fee 
Rands  your  medicine.  The  dodtor  orders  you  to 
take  it.  cc  Have  you  taken  it?” — Yes,  replied 
Bragwell.  Are  you  the  better  for  it  ?  faid  Wor¬ 
thy. — I  think  I  am,  he  replied. — But,  added 
Worthy,  are  you  the  better  becaufe  the  doctor  has 
ordered  it  merely,  or  becaufe  you  have  alfo  taken 
it  ? — What  a  foolifh  queftion  !  cried  Bragwell. — 
Why,  to  be  fure  the  dodtor  might  be  the  belt 
doctor,  and  his  phyfic  the  beftphyfic  in  the  world; 
but  if  it  flood  for  ever  on  the  fhelf,  I  could  not  ex¬ 
pect  to  be  cured  by  it.  My  dcdtor  is  not  a  moun¬ 
tebank.  He  does  not  pretend  to  cure  by  a  charm. 
The  phyfic  is  good,  and  as  it  fuits  my  cafe,  though 
it  is  bitter,  I  take  it. — You  have  now,  faid  Worthy, 
explained  undefignedly  the  reafon  why  religion 
does  fo  little  good  in  the  world.  It  is  not  a  moun¬ 
tebank.;  it  does  not  work  by  a  charm;  but  offers 
1 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  2 1 5 

to  cure  your  word  corruptions  by  wholefbme, 
though  fometimes  bitter  prefcriptions.  But  you 
will  not  take  them ;  you  will  not  apply  to  God 
with  the  fame  earned:  define  to  be  healed  with 
which  you  apply  to  your  clo&or  ;  you  will  not 
•confefs  your  fins  to  the  one  as  honeftly  as  you  tell 
your  fymptoms  to  the  other,  nor  read  your  Bible 
with  the  fame  faith  and  fubmifilon  with  which  you 
take  your  medicine.  In  reading  it,  however,  you 
muft  take  care  not  to  apply  to  yourfelf  the  com- 
forts  which  are  not  fuited  to  your  cafe.  You  mud:, 
by  the  grace,  of  God,  be  brought  into  a  condition 
to  be  entitled  to  the  promifes,  before  you  can  ex- 
peCt  the  comfort  of  them.  Conviction  is  not 
converfion  ;  that  worldly  difcontent  which  is  the 
effeCt  of  worldly  difappointment,  is  not  tha tgodfy 
/or row  which  worketh  repentance.  Befides,  while 
you  have  been  purfuing  all  the  gratifications  of  the 
world,  do  not  complain  that  you  have  nocall  the 
comforts  of  Religion  too..  Could  you  live  in  the 
full  enjoyment  of  both,  the  Bible  would  not  be  true . 

Bragwell  now  feemed  refolved  to  let  about  the 
matter  in  earned:,  but  he  refolved  in  his  own 
ftrength;  and,  unluckily,  the  very  day  Mr.  Worthy 
took  leave,  there  happened  to  be  a  grand  ball  at 
the  next  town,  on  account  of  the  affizes.  An  a  fi¬ 
ll  ze- ball  is  a  fcene  to  which  gentlemen  and  ladies 
periodically  refort  to  celebrate  the  crimes  and  ca¬ 
lamities  of  their  fellow-creatures  by  dancing  and 
mufic,  and  to  divert  themfelves  with  feafting  and 
drinking,  while  unhappy  wretches  are  receiving 
fentence  of  death. 

To  this  ball  Mifs  Bragwell  went,  drefifed  out 
with  a  double  portion  of  finery,  pouring  out  on 


2 1 6  The  Two  TVealthy  Farmers , 

her  own  head  the  whole  band-box  of  feathers  and 
flowers  her  filter  had  left  behind  her.  While  fhe 
was  at  the  ball  her  father  formed  many  plans  of 
religious  reformation  :  he  talked  of  lelfening  his 
bufinefs,  that  he  might  have  more  leifure  for  de¬ 
votion  ;  though  not  juft  now,  while  the  markets 
were  fo  high ;  and  then  he  began  to  think  of  fend¬ 
ing  a  handfome  fubfcription  to  the  Infirmary  ; 
though*  on  fecond  thoughts,  he  concluded  he  need 
not  be  in  a  hurry ,  but  leave  it  in  his  will ,  but  to 
give,  and  repent,  and  reform,  were  three  things  he 
was  bent  upon.  But  when  his  daughter  came  home 
at  night,  fo  happy  and  fo  fine,  and  telling  how  fire 
had  danced  with  'Squire  Squeeze  the  great  corn 
contractor,  and  how  many  fine  things  he  had  laid 
to  her,  Mr.  Bragwrell  felt  the  old  fpirit  of  the 
world  return  in  its  full  force.  A  marriage  with 
Mr.  Dafhall  Squeeze,  the  contractor,  was  beyond 
his  hopes,  for  Mr.  Squeeze  was  fuppofed  from  a 
very  low  beginning  to  have  got  rich  during  the 
war.  As  for  Mr.  Squeeze  he  had  picked  up  as 
much  of  the  hiftory  of  his  partner  between  the 
dances  as  he'defired;  he  was  convinced  there 
would  be  no  money  wanting,  for  Mifs  Bragwell, 
who  was  now  looked  on  as  an  only  child,  muft 
needs  be  a  great  fortune,  and  he  was  too  much 
ufed  to  advantageous  contracts  to  let  this  flip.™ 
As  he  was  gaudily  drefifed,  and  poflefied  all  the 
arts  of  vulgar  flattery,  Mifs  Bragwell  eagerly 
caught  at  his  propofal  to  wait  on  her  father  next 
day.  Squeeze  was  quite  a  man  after  Bragwell’s 
own  heart,  a  genius  at  getting  money,  a  fine  dafh- 
iag  fellow  at  fpending  it.  He  told  his  wife  that 
this  was  the  very  fort  of  man  for  his  daughter,  for 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  2  ?  7 

He  got  money  like  a  Jew,  and  fpentit  like  a  Prince; 
but  whether  it  was  fairly  got,  or  wifely  fpent,  he  was’ 
too  much  a  man  o i  the  world  to  enquire.  Mrs. 
Bragwell  was  not  fo  run  away  with  by  appearances, 
out  fhe  defiied  her  hufband  to  be  careful  and  Quite 
iuie  that  it  was  the  right  Mr.  Squeeze,  and  no  im- 
poflor.  But  being  allured  that  Betfey  would  cer¬ 
tainly  keep  her  carriage,  fhe  never  gave  herfelf 
one  thought  with  what  fort  of  man  fhe  was  to  ride 
in  it.  To  have  one  of  her  daughters  drive  in 
her  own  coach,  filled  up  all  her  ideas  of  human 
happinefs.  The  marriage  was  celebrated  with 
great  fpiendor,  and  Mr.  anci  IVIrs.  Squeeze  fet  off* 
for  London,  where  they  had  a  houfe. 

Mn  Bragwell  now  tried  to  forget  that  he  had 
any  other  daughter,  and  if  fbme  thoughts  of  the 
resolutions  he  had  made  of  entering  on^a  more  re¬ 
ligious  courfe  would  fometimes  force  themfelves 
upon  him,  they  were  put  off,  like  the  repentance 
of  Felix,,  to  a  more  convenient  Jeafon ;  and  finding 
he  was  likely  to  have  a  grandchild,  he  became 
more  .worldly  and  ambitious  than  ever,  thinking 
uiis  a  juft  pretence  for  adding  houfe  to  houfe,  and 
field  to  field;  and  there  is  no  ftratagem  by  which 
men  more  deceive  themfelves  than  when  they 
make  even  unborn  children  a  pretence  for  that- 
rapine,  or  that  hoarding,  of  which  their  own  co¬ 
ve  toufnefs  is  the  true  motive.  Whenever  he  ven¬ 
tured  to  write  to  Mr.  Worthy  about  the  wealth, 
the  gaiety,  and  the  grandeur  of  Mr.  and  Mrs! 
Squeeze,  tnat  faithful  friend  honeflly  reminded 
him  of  the  vanity  and  uncertainty  of  worldly 
gieatnels,  and  the  error  he  had  been  guilty  of  in 


2i 8  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

marrying  his  daughter  before  he  had  taken  time  to 
inquire  into  the  real  character  of  the  man,  faying, 
that  he  could  not  help  foreboding,  that  the  happi- 
nefs  of  a  match  made  at  a  ball  might  have  an  end. 
Notwithftanding,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bragwell  had  paid 
down  a  larger  fortune  than  was  prudent,  for  fear 
Mr.  Squeeze  fhould  fly  off,  yet  he  was  furprifed  to 
receive  very  foon  a  prefling  letter  from  him,  defir¬ 
ing  him  to  advance  a  conflderable  fum,  as  he  had 
the  offer  of  an  advantageous  purchafe,  which  he 
muft  lofe  for  want  of  money.  Bragwell  was  dag¬ 
gered,  and  refufed  to  comply ;  but  nis  wife  told 
him  he  muft  not  be  fhabby  to  fuch  a  gentleman 
as  'Squire  Squeeze,  for  that  fhe  heard  on  all  fides 
fuch  accounts  of  their  grandeur,  their  feafts,  their 
carriages,  and  their  liveries,  that  fhe  and  her  huf- 
band  ought  even  to  deny  themfelves  comforts  to 
oblige  fuch  a  generous  fon,  who  did  ail  this  in 
honour  of  their  daughter;  hefides,  if  he  did  not 
fend  the  money  foon,  they  might  be  obliged  to  lay 
down  their  coach,  and  then  fhe  fhould  never  be 
able  to  fhew  her  face  again.  At  length  Mr  Brag¬ 
well  lent  him  the  money  on  his  bond:  he  knew 
Squeeze’s  income  was  large,  for  he  had  carefully 
enquired  into  this  particular,  and  for  the  reft  he 
took  his  word.  Mrs.  Squeeze  alfo  got  great  pre- 
ients  from  her  mother,  by  reprefenting  to  her  how 
expenfivelv  they  were  forced  to  live  to  keep  up 
their  credit,  and  what  honour  fhe  was  conferring 
on  the  family  of  the  Bragwells  by  fpending  their 
money  in  fuch  grand  company.  Among  many 
other  letters  fhe  wrote  her  the  following  : 

(i  To  Mrs.  Bragwell. 

“  You  can’t  imagine,  dear  mother,  how  charm’ 


The  Two  1>  - eallhy  Farmers.  n  j  • 

ingly^we  live— I  lie  a-bed  almoft  all  day,  and  am 
up  ail  night :  but  it  is  never  dark  for  all  that,  for 
we  burn  i'uch  numbers  of  candles  all  at  once,  that 
the  fun  would  be  of  no  ufe  at  all  in  London.— 
Tnen  I  am  fo  happy  !  for  we  are  never  quiet  a 
moment,  Sundays  or  working-days,  nay,  I  Ihould 
not  know  which  was  which,  only  that  we  have  moil 
plea  lure  on  a  Sunday,  becauie  it  is  the  only  day  in 
which  people  have  nothing  to  do  but  divert  them- 
ielves.— Then  the  great  folks  are  all  fo  kind,  and 
lo  good,  they  have  not  a  bit  of  pride,  for  they 
will  come  and  eat  and  drink,  and  win  my  money 
juft  as  if  I  was  their  equals;  and  if  I  have  got  but 
a  cold  they  are  lo  very  unhappy  that  they  fend  to 
know  how  I  do;  and  though  I  fuppofe  they  can’t 
reft  till  the  footman  has  told  them,  yet  they  are  fo 
polite,,  that  if  I  have  been  dying  they  leem  to 
have  forgot  it  next  time  we  meet,  and  not  to 
know  but  they  have  feen  me  the  day  before.  Oh! 
th<?y  are  true  friends;  and  for  ever  finding,  and 
jo  fond  of  one  another,  that  they  like  to  meet  and 
enjoy  one  another’s  company  by  hundreds,  and 
always  think  the  more  the  merrier. 

Your  dutiful  daughter 

Betsey  SqueeyeY 


The  flyle  of  her  letters,  however,  altered  in  a 
*ew  months.  She  owned,  that  though  things  went 
on  gayer  and  grander  than  ever,  yet  fhe° hardly 
ever  law  her  hufband,  except  her  houfe  was  full 
ql  company,  and  cards,  or  dancing  was  goino-  on  * 
that  he  was  often  fo  bufy  he  could  not  come  all 

L  2 


* 220  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 

night ;  that  he  always  borrowed  the  money  her 
mother  fent  her  when  he  was  going  out  on  this 
nightly  bufinefs;  and  that  the  lad;  time  fhe  had 
alked  him  for  money,  he  curbed,  and  fwore,  and 
bid  her  apply  to  the  old  farmer  and  his  rib,  who 
were  made  of  money.  This  letter  Mrs.  Bragwell 
concealed  from  her  hufband. 

At  length,  on  fome  change  in  public  affairs, 
Mr.  Squeeze,  who  had  made  an  overcharge  of 
fome  thoufand  pounds  in  one  article,  loft  his  con- 
trad  5  he  was  found  to  owe  a  large  debt  to  go¬ 
vernment,  and  his  accounts  muff  be  made  up  im¬ 
mediately.  This  was  impoftible ;  he  had  not 
only  fpent  his  large  income  without  making  any 
provision  for  his  family,  but  had  contracted  heavy 
debts  by  gaming  and  other  vices.  His  creditors 
poured  in  upon  him.  He  wrote  to  Bragwell  to 
borrow  another  fum  ;  but  without  hinting  at  the 
lofs  of  his  contrad.  Thefe  repeated  demands 
made  Bragwell  fo  uneafy,  that  inftead  of  fending 
him  the  money,  he  refolved  to  go  himfelf  fecretly 
to  London,  and  judge  by  his  own  eyes  how  things 
were  going  on,  as  his  mind  ftrangely  mifgave  him. 
He  got  to  Mr.  Squeeze’s  houfe  about  eleven  at 
night,  and  knocked  gently,  concluding  that  they 
muff  needs  be  gone  to  bed.  But  what  was  his 
aftoniff  ment  to  find  the  hail  was  full  of  men  !  He 
puffed  through  in  fpite  of  them,  though'  to  his 
great  furprile  they  infilled  on  knowing  his  name. 
This  affronted  him  :  he  refilled,  faying,  I  am  not 
affamed  of  my  name,  it  will  pafs  for  thoufands  in 
any  market  in  the  Weft  of  England.  Is  this 
your  London  manners,  not  to  let  a  man  of  my 
creditin'  without  knowing  his  name  indeed !  What. 


The  Two  H  ealthy  Farmers .  22  x 

was  his  amazement  to  fee  every  room  as  full  of 
card-tables,  and  of  fine  gentlemen  and  ladies,  as  it 
would  hold  ;  all  was  fo  light,  and  fo  gay,  and  fo 
feftive,  and  fo  grand,  that  he  reproached  himfelf 
for  his  lufpicions,  thought  nothing  too  good  for 
them,  and  refolved  lecretly  to  give  Squeeze  an¬ 
other  five  hundred  pounds  to  help  to  keep  up  fo 
much  grandeur  and  happinefs.  At  length,  feeing 
a  footman  he  knew,  he  afked  him  where  were  his 
m after  and  miftrefs,  for  he  could  not  pick  them 
out  among  the  company;  or  rather  his  ideas  were 
fo  confuted  with  the  iplendor  of  the  fcene,  that- 
he  did  not  know  whether  they  were  there  or  not. 
The  man  faid,  that  his  mafter  had  juft  lent  for  his 
lady  up  fairs,  and  he  believed  that  he  was  not 
wed,  MV.  Brag  we  11  faid  he  would  go  up  him¬ 
felf,  and  look  for  h is  daughter,  as  he  could  not 
fpeak  fo  freely  to  her  before  all  that  company.- 
Ifte  went  up  and  knocked  at  the  chamber  door, 
and  its  not  being  opened,  made  him  pufli  it  with 
fome  violence.  He  heard  a  bridling  noife  within, 
and  again  made  a  fruidefs  attempt  to  open  the 
d°or*  At  this  the  noife  increafed,  and  Mr.  Brag- 
well  was  ftruck  to  the  heart  at  the  found  of  a  pif- 
tol  from4  within.  He  now  kicked  fo  violently 
againft  the  door  that  it  burft  open,  when  the  firft 
iignt  he  faw  was  his  daughter  falling  to  the  ground 
in  a  fir,  and  Mr.  Squeeze  dying  by  a  fhot  from  a 
piftol  which  was  dropping  out  of  his  hand.  Mr. 
Bragwell  was  riot  the  only  perfon  whom  the  found 
of  the  piftol  had  alarmed.  The  iervants,  the 
company,  all  heard  it,  and  all  ran  up  to  this  fcene 
of  horror.  i.  hole  who  had  the  beft  of  the  game 
took  care  to  bring  up  their  tricks  in  their  hands, 

L  3 


222 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers ; 

having  had  the  prudence  to  leave  the  very  few 
who  could  be  trufled,  to  watch  the  hakes,  while 
thofe  who  had  a  profped  of  lofing,  profited  by 
the  confufion,  and  threw  up  their  cards.  All  was 
difmay  and  terror.  Some  ran  for  a  furgeon, 
othep  examined  the  dying  man,  while  fome  re¬ 
moved  Mrs.  Squeeze  to  her  bed,  while  poor 
.Brag  well  could  neither  fee,  nor  hear,  nor  do  any 
thing.  One  of  the  company*  took  up  a  letter 
which  lay  open  upon  the  table,  addrefTed  to  him ; 
they  read  it,  hoping  it  might  explain  the  horrid 
my  fiery.  It  was  as  follows : 

\  •  v‘ 

“  To  Mr.  Bragwell. 

"  SlRj 

fc  Fetch  home  your  daughter;  I  have  ruined 
her,  myfeli,  and  the  child,  to  which  fhe  every 
hour  ex  pedis  to  be  a  mother.  I  have  loft  my 
contrad.  My  debts  are  immenfe.  You  refufe 
me  money :  I  muft  die  then';  but  I  will  die  like 
a  man  of  fpirit.  They  wait  to  take  me  to  prifon; 
I  have  two  executions  in  my  houfe ;  but  I  have 
ten  card  tables  in  it.  I  would  die  as  I  have  lived. 
I  invited  all  this  company,  and  have  drank  hard 
fince  dinner  to  get  primed  for  the  dreadful  deed. 
My  wife  refufe s  to  write  to  you  for  another  thou- 
fandi  and  fhe  muft  take  the  confequences.  Vanity 
has  been  my  ruin.  It  has  caufed  all  my  crimes. 
Whoever  is  refolyed  to  live  beyond  his  income 
is  liable  to  every  fin.  Fie  can  never  fay  to  him- 
felf,  thus  far  fhalt  thou  go  and  no  farther.  Va¬ 
nity  led  me  to  commit  ads  of  rapine,  that  I  might 
live  in  fplendor;  vanity  makes  me  commit  ft  If- 


f 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers.  223 

murder,  becaufe  I  will  not  live  in  poverty.  T  he 
new  philofophy  fays,  that  death  is  an  eternal  lleep^ ; 
but  the  new  philofophy  lies.  Do  you  take  heed: 
it  is  too  late  for  me.  The  dreadful  gulf  yawns  to 
fwallow  me — I  plunge  into  perdition.  There  is 
no  repentance  in  the  grave,  no  hope  in  hell. 

Yours, 

,  Dashall  Squeeze.’5 


The  dead  body  was  removed,  and  Mr.  Brag- 
well  remaining  almoft  without  fpeech,  or  motion, 
the  company  began  to  think  of  retiring,  much 
out  of  humour,  at  having  their  party  lo  difagree- 
ably  broken  up;  they  comforted  themfelves,  how¬ 
ever,  that  as  it  were  fo  early ,  for  it  was  now  fcarcely 
twelve,  they  could  ftnifti  their  evening  at  another 
party  or  two;  fo  completely  do  habits  of  pleafure, 
as  it  is  called,  harden  the  heart,  and  fteel  it  not 
only  again  ft  virtuous  impreffions,  but  againft  na¬ 
tural  feelings.  Now  it  was,  that  thole  who  had 


nightly  rioted  at  the  expence  of  thole  wretched 
people  were  the  firft  to  ahufe  them.  Not  an 
offer  of  aftiftance  was  made  to  this  poor  forlorn, 
woman ;  not  a  word  of  kindnefs,  or  ot  pity ;  no¬ 
thing  but  cenfure  was  now  heard.  Why  muff 
thofe  upftarts  ape  people  of  quality  ?  though  as 
long  as  thefe  upftarts  could  feaft  them,  their  vul¬ 
garity,  and  their  bad  character  had  never  been 
produced  againft  them.  tf  As  long  as  thou  doff 
well  unto  thyfelf,  men  (hail  fpeak  good  of  thee.’5 
One  gueft  who,  unluckily,  had  no  other  houfe  to 
go  to,  coolly  fald,  as  he  walked  off, — Squeeze 
might  as  well  have  put  off  {hooting  himfelf  till 

L  4 


£2-4  Fhe  Two  Wealthy  Farmers, 

ihe  morning.  It  was- monfbrous  provoking  that 
he  could  not  wait  an  hour  or  two. 


/is  every  thing  in  the  houfe  was  feized,  Mr. 
Bragwell  prevailed  on  his  miferabie  daughter, 
weak  as  fire  was,  next  morning  tofet  out  with 
him  for  the  country.  His  acquaintance  with  po¬ 
lite  life  was  fhort,  but  he  had  feen  a  great  deal  in 
a  hide  time.  hi.  hey  had  a  flow  and  a  fad  journey. 
In  about  a  week,  Mrs.  Squeeze  lay-in  of  a  dead 
child,  ike  herfeif  languifoed  a  few  days  and  then 
died  j  anu  the  afHnfled  parents  law  the  two  clnrlin °* 
objedts  of  their  ambition,  for  whofe  fakes  they 
had  made  too  much  hafie  to  be  rich ,  carried  to  the 
land  where  all  things  are  forgotten.  Mrs.  Brao-- 
welfs  grief,  like  her  other  paflions,  was  extrava¬ 
gant  ^  and  poor  BragwelPs  iorrow  was' rendered 
fo  bitter  by  felf-reproach,  that  he  would  quite 
have  funk  under  it,  had  he  not  thought  of  his  old 
expedient  in  cliftrefs,  that  of  fending  for  Mr. 
Worthy  to  comfort  him.  It  was  Mr.  Worthy’s 
way,  to  warn  people  of  thofe  misfortunes  which 
he  faw  their  faults  muff  needs  bring  on  them,  but 


not  to  reproach,  or  defert  them  when  the  misfor¬ 
tunes  came.  He  had  never  been  near  Bragwell 
during  the  fhort,  but  ffourifhing,  reign  of  the 
Squeeze’s  ;  for  he  knew  that  profperity  made  the 
ears  deaf,  and  the  heart  hard,  to  good  counfel; 
but  as  foon  as  he  heard  his  friend  was  in  trouble 
he  fet  cut  to  go  to  him.  Bragwell  burft  out  into  a 
violent  fit  of  tears  when  he  law  him,  and  when  he 
could  fpeak,  faicl.  This  trial  is  more  than  I  can 
bear.  Mr.  Worthy. kindly  took  him  by  the  hand, 
and  when  he  was  a  little  compofed,  faid,  I  will 
tell  you  a  fhort  flory.  There  was  in  ancient 


The  T wo  Wealthy  Farmers .  225 

times  a  famous  man  who  was  a  (lave.  His  Mailer, 
who  was  very  good  to  him,  one  day  gave  him  a 
bitter  melon,  and  bade  him  eat  it  he  eat  it  up 
without  one  word  of  complaint.  How  was  it 
poffible,  faid  the  mailer,  for  you  to  eat  fo  very 
naufeous  and  difagreeable  a  fruit  ?  The  Have  re¬ 
plied,  My  good  mailer,  I  have  received  fo  many 
favours  from  your  bounty,  that  it  is  no  wonder  if 
I  iliould  once  in  my  life  eat  one  bitter  melon 
from  your  hands.  This  generous  anfwer  fo  ft  ruck 
the  mailer,  that  the  hiftory  fays,  he  gave  him  his- 
liberty.  With  fuch  lubmiflive  fentimencs,  -my 
friend,  ihould  man  receive  his  portion  of  bufferings 
frqm  God,  from  whom  he  receives  fo  many  bleff 
lings.  You  in  .  particular  have  received  much- 
good  at  the  hand  of  God,  thall  you  not  receive 
evil  alfo  ? 

O,  Mr.  Worthy,  faid  Rragwe.ll,  this  blow  is 
too  heavy  for  me,  I  cannot  furvivc  this  fhock.  I 
do  not  defire  it,  I  only  delire  to  die.  We  are 
very  apt  to  talk  moil  of  dying  when  we  are  lead: 
fit  for  it,  faid  Wothy.  This  is*  not  the  language 
of  that  fubmiffion  which  makes  us  prepare  for 
death,  but  of  that  defpair  which  makes  us  out  of 
humour  with  life.  O,  Mr.  Bragwell,  you  are  in¬ 
deed  difappointed  of  the  grand  ends  which  mad-e^ 
life  fo  delightful  to  you ;  but  till  your  heart  is 
humbled,  till  you  are  brought  to  a  ferious -convic¬ 
tion  of  fin,  till  you  are  brought  to  fee  what  is  the 
true  end  of  life,  you  can  have  no  hope'  in  death. 
You  think  you  have  no  bufinefs  on  earth,  becauie 
thole  for  wliofe  fake  you  too  eagerly  heaped  up 
riches  are  no  more.  But  is  there  not  under  the. 
canopy  of  heaven  fome  affiicled  being  whom  you 

L  5 


226  The  Two  JVealthy  Farmers. 

t  !-  i  x 

may  yet  relieve,  feme  model!  merit  which  you 
may  bring  forward,  fome  helplefs  creature  you 
may  five  by  your  advice,  fome  perilhing  chrif- 
tian  you  may  fultain  by  your  wealth  ?  When  you 
have  no  fins  of  your  own  to  repent  of,  no  mercies 
of  God  to  be  thankful  for,  no  miferies  of  others 
to  relieve,  then,  and  not  till  then,  I  confent  you 
fhould  fink  down  in  defpair,  and  call  on  death  to 
relieve  you. 

Mr.  Worthy  attended  his  affiicled  friend  to  the 
funeral  of  his  unhappy  daughter  and  her  babe. 
The  folemn  fervice,  the  commitfing  his  late  gay 
and  beautiful  daughter  to  darknefs,  to  worms,  and 
to  corruption,  the  light  of  the  dead  infant,  for 
whole  fake  he  had  refumed  all  his  fchemes  of  va¬ 
nity  and  covetoufnefs,  when  he  thought  he  had 
got  the  better  of  them,  the  melancholy  convic¬ 
tion  that  all  human  profperity  ends  in  ajhes  to 
afies  and  duft  to  dufty  had  brought  down  Mr. 
Bragwelfs  felf-fufficient  and  haughty  foul  into 
iomething  of  that  humble  frame  in  which  Mr. 
Worthy  had  wifhed  to  lee  it.  As  foon  as  they 
returned  home  he  was  beginning  to  feize  the  fa¬ 
vourable  moment  for  fixing  thele  ferious  impref- 
fions,  when  they  were  unfcalbnably  interrupted  by 
the  parifh  officer,  who  came  to  afk  Mr.  Bragwell 
what  he  was  to  do  with  a  poor  dying  woman  who 
was  travelling  the  country  with  her  child,  and  was 
taken  in  a  fit  under  the  church-yard  wall  ?  At 
frit  they  thought  lire  was  dead,  faid  the  man,  but 
finding  fhe  Hill  breathed,  they  have  carried  her 
into  the  workhoufe  till  fhe  could  give  fome  ac¬ 
count  of  herfelf.  Mr.  Bragwell  was  impatient  at 
the  interruption,  which  was  indeed  unfeafonable. 


The  rT-wo  JVealthy  Farmers .  227 

. .  .  V  ‘r'\  \ 

and  told  the  man  he  was  at  that  time  too  much 
overcome  by  borrow  to  attend  to  bufinefs,  but  he 
would  give  him  an  anfwer  to-morrow.  But  my 
friend,  faid  Mr.  Worthy,  the  poor  woman  may 
die  to-night;  your  mind  is  indeed  not  in  a  frame 
for  worldly  bufinefs,  but  there  is  no  borrow  too 
great  to  forbid  our  attending  the  calls  of  duty. 
An  a£t  of  chriftian  charity  will  not  difturb  but 
improve  the  berioubnebs  of  your  bpirit,  and  though 
you  cannot  dry  your  own  tears,  God  may,  in 
great  mercy,  permit  you  to  dry  thobe  of  another. 
This  may  be  one  of  thobe  occaiions  for  which  I 
told  you  life  wras  worth  keeping.  Do  let  us  fee 
this  woman.  Bragwell  was  not  in  a  (late  either 
to  confent  or  refube,  and  his  friend  drew  him  to 
the  workhoufe,  about  the  door  of  which  flood  a 
crowd  of  people.  She  is  not  dead,  (aid  one,  (he 
moves  her  head.  But  (he  wants  air,  baid  they 
all,  while  they  all,  according  to  cubtom,  p allied 
fo  clobe  upon  her  that  it  was  impoffible  fhe  could 
get  any.  A  fine  boy  of  two  or  three  years  old 
flood  by  her,  crying,  Mammy  is  dead,  mammy 
is  (larved.  Mr.  Worthy  made  up  to  the  poor 
woman,  holding  his  friend  by  the  arm  :  in  order 
to  give  her  air  he  untied  a  large  black  bonnet " 
which  hid  her  face,  when  Mr.  Bragwell,  at  that 
moment  calling  his  eyes  on  her,  (aw  in  this  poor 
ftranger  the  face  of  his  own  run-away  daughter, 
Mrs.  Incle.  He  groaned,  but  could  not  (peak, 
and  as  he  was  turning  away  to  conceal  his  an- 
guibh,  the  little  boy  fondly  caught  hold  of  his 
hand,  libping  out— O  (lay,  and  give  mammy 
dome  bread.  Fils  heart  yearned  towards  the 
child  5  he  grafped  his  little  hand  in  Ids,  while  he  / 

L  6 


2  23  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 

forrow  fully  laid  to  Mr.  Worthy,  It  is  too  much, 
lend  away  the  people.  It  is  my  dear,  naughty 
child ;  my  f  uni  foment  is  greater  than  1  can  hear . 
Mr.  Worthy  de fired  the  people  to  go  and  leave 
the  flranger  to  them ;  but  by  this  time  fhe  was 
no  ft  ranger  to  any  of  them.  Pale  and  meagre  as 
was  her  face,  and  poor  and  fhabby  as  was  her 
drefs,  the  proud  and  flaunting  Mifs  Polly  Brag- 
well  was  eafily  known  by  every  one  prefent. 
They  went  away,  but  with  the  mean  revenge  of 
little  minds,  they  paid  themfelves  by  abufe,  for 
all  the  airs  and  infolence  they  had  once  endured 
from  her.  Pride  muft  have  a  fall,  laid  one.  I 
remember  when  fhe  was  too  good  to  fpeak  to 
a  poor  body,  faid  another;  where  are  her  flounces 
and  her  furbelows  now  ?  It  is  come  home  to  her 
at  lafl.  Her  child  looks  as  if  he  would  be  glad  of 
the  word  bit  fhe  formerly  denied  us. 

In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Bragwell  had  funk  in  an 
old  wicker  chair  which  flood  behind,  and  groaned 
out,  Lord  forgive  my  hard  heart  !  Lord  fubdtie 
my  proud  heart,  “  create  a  clean  heart,  O  God, 
and  renew  a  right  fpirit  within  me.”  This  was 
perhaps  the  firft  word  of  genuine  prayer  he  had 
ever  offered  up  in  his  whole  life.  Worthy  over¬ 
heard  it,  and  his  heart  rejoiced,  but  this  was  not  a 
time  for  talking,  but  doing.  He  afked  Bragwell 
what  was  to  be  done  with  the  unfortunate  woman, 
who  now  feemed  to  recover  fall,  but  fhe  did  not 
fee  them,  for  they  were  behind.  She  embraced 
her  boy,  and  faintly  faid,  My  child,  what  fhall  we 
do  ?  I  will  arife  and  go  to  my  father ,  and  fay  unto 
him ,  father ,  I  have  finned  againft  heaven  and  before 
thee.  This  was  a  joyful  found  to  Mr.  Worthy, 

5 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers.  229 

who  began  to  hope  that  her  heart  might  be  as 
much  changed  for  the  better  as  her  circumftances 
were  altered  for  the  werfe,  and  he  valued  the 
goods  of  fortune  fo  little,  and  contrition  of  foul 
fo  much,  that  he  began  to  think  the  change  on 
the  whole  might  be  a  happy  one.  The  boy  then 
fprung  from  his  mother  and  ran  to  Bragwell,  fay¬ 
ing,  Do  be  good  to  mammy.  Mrs.  Incle  look¬ 
ing  round,  now  perceived  her  father  \  fhe  fell  at 
his  feet,  faying,  O  forgive  your  guilty  child,  and 
five  your  innocent  one  from  ftarving.  Bragwell 
funk  down  by  her,  and  prayed  God  to  forgive 
both  her  and  himfelf,  in  terms  of  genuine  forrow. 
To  hear  words  of  real  penitence  and  heart-felt 
prayer  from  this  once  high-minded  father  and 
vain  daughter,  was  mufic  to  W orthy’s  ears,  who 
thought  this  moment  of  outward  mifery  was  the 
only  joyful  one  he  had  ever  fpent  in  the  Bragwell 
family.  He  was  refolved  not  to  interfere,  but  to 
let  the  father’s  own  feelings  work  out  the  way  in 
which  he  was  to  a£h  Bragwell  faid  nothing,  but 
fiowly  led  to  his  own  houfe,  holding  the  little  boy 
by  the  hand,  and  pointing  to  Worthy  to  afiift  the 
feeble  Heps  of  his  daughter,  who  once  more  en¬ 
tered  her  father’s  doors ;  but  the  dread  of  feeing 
her  mother  quite  overpowered  her.  Mrs.  Brag- 
well’s  heart  was  not  changed,  but  forrow  had 
weakened  her  powers  of  refiftarice,  and  fhe  rather 
fuffered  her  daughter  to  come  in,  than  gave  her  a 
kind  reception.  She  was  more  aflonifhed  than 
pleafed ;  and,  even  in  this  trying  moment,  was 
more  difgufted  with  the  little  boy’s  mean  cloaths, 
than  delighted  with  his  rofy  face.  As  foon  as  fhe 
was  a  little  recovered,  Mr,  Bragwell  de fired  his 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

✓ 


\ 


-3° 

daughter  to  tell  him  how  fhe  happened  to  be  at 
that  place  juft  at  that  time. 

In  a  weak  voice  fhe  began  :  My  tale,  Sir,  is 
fhort,  but  mournful. — Now  I  am  very  lorry  that 
my  Readers  muff  wait  for  this  fhort  but  mourn- 
ul  tale,  till  next  month. 


PART  VII. 

I  LEFT  your  houfe,  my  dear  father,  faid  Mrs. 
Incle,  with  a  heart  fulUof  vain  triumph.  I  had 
no  doubt  but  my  hufband  was  a  great  man  who 
had  put  on  that  difguife  to  obtain  my  hand, 
judge  then  what  I  felt  to  find  that  he  was  a  needy 
impoftor,  who  wanted  my  money  but  did  not  care 
for  me.  This  difcovery,  though  it  mortified,  did 
not  humble  me.  I  had  neither  affection  to  bear 
with  the  man  who  had  deceived  me,  nor  religion 
to  improve  by  the  difappointment.  I  have -found 
that  change  of  circumftances  does  not  change  the 
heart,  till  God  is  pleafed  to  do  it.  My  misfor¬ 
tunes  only  taught  me  to  rebel  more  againft  him. 
I  thought  God  unjuft;  I  accufed  my  father;  I 
was  .envious  of  my  filler;  I  hated  my  hufband; 
but  never  once  did  I  blame  myfelf.  My  hufband 
picked  up  a  wretched  fubfiftence  by  joining  him- 
felf  to  any  low  fche.me  of  idle  pleafure  that  was 
going  on.  He  would  follow  a  mountebank,  carry 
a  dice-box,  or  fiddle  at  a  fair.  He  was  always 
taunting  me  for  that  gentility  on^which  I  fo  much 
valued  myfelf.  If  I  had  married  a  poor,  working 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers,  a 3  r 

girl,  laid  he,  fhe  could  now  have  got  her  bread ; 
but  a  fine  lady,  without  money,  is  a  burthen  to 
her  hufband,  and  a  plague  to  fociety.  Every  trial 
which  affe&ion  might  have  made  lighter,  we 
doubled  by  animofity;  at  length  my  hufband 
was  detected  in  ufing  falfe  dice ;  he  fought  with 
his  accufer,  both  were  feized  by  a  p re fs -gang, 
and  lent  to  fea.  i  was  now  left  to  the  wide 
world,  and  miferable  as  I  had  thought  myfelf 
before,  I  foon  found  there  were  higher  degrees  of 
mifery.  I  Was  near  my  time,  without  bread  for 
myfelf,  or  hope  for  my  child.  I  fet  out  on  foot 
in  fearch  of  the  village  *  where  I  had  heard  my 
hufband  fay  his  friends  lived.  It  was  a  fevere 
trial  to  my  proud  heart  to  ftoop  to  thofe  low 
people,  but  hunger  is  not  delicate,  and  I  was  near 
perifhing.  My  hufband’s  parents  received  me 
kindly,  faying,  that  though  they  had  nothing  but 
what  they  earned  by  their  labour,  yet  I  was  wel¬ 
come  to  in  are  their  hard  fare,  for  they  traded  ' 
that  God  who  fent  mouths  would  fend  meat  alfo. 
They  gave  me  a  fmall  room  in  their  cottage,  and 
many  neceiTaries,  which  they  denied  themfelves. 

O,  my  child,  interrupted  Bragwell,  every  word 
ruts  me  to  the  heart.  Thefe  poor  people  gladly 
gave  thee  of  their  little,  while  thy  rich  parents 
left  thee  to  flarve. 

How  fhall  I  own,  continued  Mrs.  Xncle,  that 
all  this  goodnefs  could  not  foften  my  heait,  for 
God  had  not  yet  touched  it.  I  received  all  their 
kindnefs  as  a  favour  done  to  them.  When  my 
father  brought  me  home  any  little  dainty  whicn 
he  could  pick  up,  and  my  mother  kindly  dreffed  ^ 
it  for  me,  I  would  not  condefcend  to  eat  it  with 


2J2  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

them,,  but  devoured  it  fullenly  in  my  little  garret 
alone,  buffering  them  to  fetch  and  carry  every 
thing  I  wanted.  As  my  haughty  behaviour  was 
not  likely  to  gain  their  affedlion,  it  was  plain  they 
did  not  love  me  ;  and  as  I  had  no  notion  that  there 
were  any  other  motives  to  good  aft  ions  but  fond- 
nefs,  or  felf-intereft,  I  was  puzzled  to  know  what 
could  make  them  fa  kind  to  me,  for  of  the  powr- 
erful  and  conftraining  law  of  chriftian  charity  I 
was  quite  ignorant.  To  cheat  the  wreary  hours, 
1  looked  about  forfome  books,  and  found,  among 
a  few  others  of  the  fame  caff,  Dvddridge's  Rife 
and  Progrejs  of  Religion  in  the  Soul.  But  all  thofe 
books  were  addreffed  to  /inner s  \  now  as  I  knew 
I  was  not  a  firmer,  I  threw  them  away  in  difguft. 
Indeed  they  were  ill  fuited  to  a  taffe  formed  by 
novels,  to  which  reading  I  chiefly  trace  my  ruin, 
for,  vain  as  I  was,  I  fhould  never  have  been  guilty 
of  fo  wild  a  ftep  as  to  run  away,  had  not  my  heart 
been  tainted,  and  my  imagination  inflamed,  by 
thofe  pernicious  books. 

At  length  my  little  George  w?as  born.  This 
added  to  the  burthen  I  had  brought  upon  this 
poor  family,  but  it  did  not  diminifh  their  kindnefs, 
and  we  continued  to  (hare  their  fcanty  fare  without 
any  upbraiding  on  their  part,  or  any  gratitude  on 
mine.  Even  this  poor  baby  did  not  foften  my 
heart;  I  wept  over  him  indeed  day  and  night,  but 
they  were  tears  of  defpair ;  I  was  always  idle,  and 
wafted  thofe  hours  in  finful  murmurs  at  his  fate, 
which  I  fhould  have  employed  in  trying  to  main¬ 
tain  him.  Hard fn ip,  grief,  and  impatience,  at 
length  brought  on  a  fever.  Death  feemed  now  at 
hand,  and  I  felt  a  gloomy  fatisfadion  in  the 


Ihe  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  233 

thought  of  being  rid  of  my  miferies,  to  which  I 
fear  was  added.,  a  fullen  joy  to  think  that  you,  Sir, 
and  my  mother,  would  be  plagued  to  hear  of  my 
death  when  it  would  be  too  late  ;  and  in  this  your 
grief,  I  anticipated  a  gloomy  lort  of  revenge.— 
But  it  pleafed  my  merciful  God  not  to  let  me  thus 
perifh  in  my  fins.  My  poor  mother-in-law  fent 
for  a  good  clergyman,  who  pointed  out  to  me  the 
danger  of  dying  in  that  hard  and  unconverted  hate  lo 
forcibly,  that  I  fhuddered  to  find  on  what  a  dread¬ 
ful  precipice  I  flood.  He  prayed  with  me,  and  for 
me,  fo  earneflly,  that  at  length  God,  who  is  borne  - 
times  pleafed  to  magnify  his  own  glory  in  awaken¬ 
ing  thofe  who  are  dead  in  t re  1  gaffes  and  fins,  was 
pleafed,  of  his  free  grace,  to  open  my  blind  eyes, 
and  foften  my  flony  heart.  I  faw  myfelf  a  finner, 
and  prayed  to  be  delivered  from  the  wrath  of  God, 
in  companion  of  which  the  poverty  and  difgrace 
I  now  buffered  appeared  as  nothing.  To  a  foul 
convinced  of  fin,  the  new7s  of  a  Redeemer  was  a 
joyful  found.  Inflead  of  reproaching  Providence, 
or  blaming  my  parents,  or  abufing  my  hufband,  I 
now  learnt  to  condemn  myfelf,  to  adore  that  God 
who  had  not  cut  me  off  in  my  ignorance,  to  pray 
for  pardon  for  the  paft,  and  grace  for  the  time  to 
come.  I  now  defired  to  fubmit  to  penury  and 
hunger  in  this  world,  fo  that  I  might  but  live  in 
the  fear  of  God  here,  and  enjoy  his  favour  in  the 
world  to  come.  I  now  learnt  to  compare  my  pre- 
fent  light  bufferings,  the  confequence  of  my  own 
fin,  with  thofe  bitter  bufferings  of  my  Saviour 
which  he  endured  for  my  fake,  and  1  was  afhamed 
of  murmuring.  But  felf-ignorance,  conceit,  and 
vanity,  were  fo  rooted  in  me,  that  my  progrefs 


2J4  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers \ 

was  very  gradual,  and  I  had  the  forrow  to  feel 
how  much  the  power  of  long  bad  habits  keeps 
downi  the  growth  of  religion  in  the  heart,  even 
after  it  has  begun  to  take  root.  I  was  fo  ignorant 
of  divine  things,  that  I  hardly  knew  words  to 
frame  a  prayer ;  but  when  l  got  acquainted  with 
the  Pfalms,  I  there  learnt  how  to  pour  out  the 
fulnefs  or  my  neart,  while  in  the  Gofpel  I  rejoiced 
to  fee  what  great  things  God  had  done  for  my  foul. 

I  now  took  down  once  more  from  the  fhelf 
Doddridge's  Rifs  and  Prcgrefs ,  and,  oh  !  with  what 
new  eyes  did  1  read  it!  I  now  faw  clearly,  that 
not  only  the  thief,  and  the  drunkard,  the  murderer, 
and  the  adulterer,  are  finners,  for  that  !  knew  be¬ 
fore  $  but  I  found  that  the  unbeliever,  the  felfifh, 
the  proud,  the  worldly-minded,  all,  in  fhort,  who 
live  without  God  in  the  world,  are  finners.  I  did 
not  now  apply  the  reproofs  I  met  with  to  my  huf- 
band,  or  my  father,  or  other  people,  as  I  ufcd  to 
do,  but  brought  them  home  to  myfelf.  In  this 
book  I  traced,  with  ftrong  emotions,  and  clofe 
fell -application,  the  (inner  through  ail  his  courfe  ; 
his  firft  awakening,  his  convictions,  repentance, 
joys,  forrows,  backfliding,  and  recovery,  defpon- 
dency,  and  delight,  to  a  triumphant  death-bed ; 
and  God  was  pleaied  to  make  it  a  chief  inftru- 
ment  in  bringing  me  to  himfelf.  Here  it  is,  con¬ 
tinued  Mrs.  Incle,  untying  her  little  bundle,  and 
taking  out  a  book,  accept  it,  my  dear  father,  and 
I  will  pray  that  God  may  bids  it  to  you  as  He  has 
done  to  me. 

When  I  was  able  to  come  down,  I  pafTed  my 
time  with  thefe  good  old  people,  and  foon  won 
their  aflcclion.  I  was  furprifed  to  find  they  had 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers.-  235 

very  good  fenfe,  which  I  never  had  thought  poor 
people  could  have  j  but,  indeed,  worldly  perfons 
do  not  know  how  much  religion,  while  it  mends 
the  heart,  enlightens  the  underflanding  alfo.  I 
now  regretted  the  evenings  I  had  wafted  in  my 
folitary  garret,  when  1  might  have  paned  them  in 
reading  the  Bible  with  thefe  good  folks.  1  his 
was  their  refrefhing  cordial  after  a  weary  day, 
which  fweetened  the  pains  of  want  and  age.  I 
one  day  expreftfed  my  iurprife  that  my  unfortu¬ 
nate  huiband,  the  fon  of  fuch  pious  parents,  fnomd 
have  turned  out  fo  ill*,  the  poor  old  man  faid  with 
tears,  I  fear  we  have  been  guilty  of  the  fin  or  rdi ; 
our  love  was  of  the  wrong  fort.  Alas  1  like  him, 
we  honoured  our  Jon  more  than  God ,  and  God  has 
fmitten  us  for  it.  W e  fhewed  him  what  was  ngnt, 
but  through  a  falfe  indulgence,  we  did  not  correct 
him  for  what  was  wrong.  We  were  blind  to  his 
faults.  He  was  a  handfome  boy,  with  fprightlv 
parts  ;  we  took  too  much  delight  m  thofe  outward 
things.  He  foon  got  above  our  management,  and 
became  vain,  idle,  and  extravagant,  and  when  we 
fought  to  reftrain  him,  it  was  then  too  late.  We 
humbled  ourfelves  before  God  ;  but  he  was  pie  ab¬ 
ed  to  make  our  fin  become  its  own  punifhmenG 
Timothy  grew  worfe  and  worfe,  till  he  was  forced 
to  abfeond  for  a  miidemeanor ;  atter  which  we 
never  faw  him,  but  have  heard  of  him  changing 
from  one  idle  way  of  lire  to  another,  unfiahie  as 
water :  he  has  b,een  a  footman,  a  foldier,  a  loop- 
man,  and  a  flrolling  ador.  With  deep  forrow  we 
trace  back  his  vices  to  our  ungoverned  fondnefs; 
that  lively  and  ibarp  wit,  by  wnich  he  has  been 
^ble  to  carry  on  fuch  a  variety  of  wild  fchemes^ 


i 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

might,  if  we  had  ufed  him  to  reproofin  his  youthr 
have  enabled  him  to  have  done  great  fervice  for 
God  and  his  country.  But  our  flattery  made  him 
wife  in  his  own  conceits  and  there  is  more  hope 
of  a  fool  than  of  him.  We  indulged  our  own 
vanity,  and  have  deflroyed  his  foul.. 

Here  Mr.  Worthy  flopped  Mrs.  Incle,  faying 
that  whenever  he  heard  it  lamented  that  the  chit- 
dren  of  pious  parents  often  turned  out  fo  ill,  he 
could  not  help  thinking  there  muff  be  frequently 
fomenting  of  this  fort  of  error  in  bringing  them  up  : 
he  Knew,  indeed,  fome  mflances  to  the  contrary,  in 
which  the  bell  means  have  failed  ;  but  he  believed, 
that  from  Eli  the  pried:  to  Incle  the  labourer,  more 
than  half  the  failures  of  this  fort  might  be  traced 
to  fome  millake,  or  vanity,  or  bad  j  udgment,  or 
finful  indulgence  in  the  parents. 

I  now  looked  about,  continued  Mrs.  Incle,  in 
orcici  to  fee  in  what  way  I  could  aflifl  my  poor 
mother,  regretting  more  heartily  than  Hie  did,, 
that  I  kne^v  no  one  thing  that  wa.  o*  any ’ufe.  I 
was  fo  defirous  of  humbling  myfcif  before  God 

and  her,  that  I  offered  even  to  try  to  wafh. _ You 

warn  i  exciaimed  Biagwell,  darting  up  with  °Teat 
emotion.  Heaven  forbid  that  with  fuch  a  fortune 
and  education,  Mils  Bragwell  fhould  be  feen  at  a 
wafhing-tub.  This  vain  father,  who  could  bear  to 
hear  of  her  diftreffes  and  her  fins,  could  not  bear 
to  hear  of  her  walking.  Mr.  Worthy  flopped 
him,^  faying,  As  to  her  fortune,  you  know,  you 
refilled  to  give  her  any ;  and,  as  to  her  education, 
you  fee  it  had  not  taught  her  how  to  do  any  thin" 
better.  I  am  forry  you  do  not  fee,  in  this  inflance, 
the  beauty  of  Chriflian  humility,  for  my  own 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 

part,  I  fet  a  greater  value  on  fuch  an  active  proof 
of  it,  than  on  a  whole  volume  of  profeffions.  Mr. 
Brag  well  did  not  quite  underfland  this,  and  Mrs. 
Inele  went  on.  What  to  do  to  get  a  penny  I  knew 
not.  Making  of  fillagree,  or  fringe,  or  card- 
purfes,  or  cutting  out  paper,  or  dancing  and  fing- 

vi ^  of  no  ule  in  our  village.  The  fhop- 
keeper  indeed  would  have  taken  me,  if  I  had 
known  any  thing  of  accounts  ;  and  the  clergyman 
could  have  got  me  a  nurfery- maid’s  place,  if  I 
could  have  done  good  plain-work.  I  made  fome 
auk  ward  attempts  to  learn  to  fpin  and  knit,  when 
my  mother’s  wheel  or  knitting  lay  by,  but  I  fpoilt 
both  through  my  ignorance.  At  laft  I  luckily 
thought  upon  the  fine  netting  I  ufed  to  make  for 
my  trimmings,  and  it  ftruck  me  that  I  might  turn 
this  to  fome  little  account.  I  procured  fome 
twine,  and  worked  early  and  late  to  make  nets  for 
fifhermen,  and  cabbage-nets.  I  was  fo  pleafed 
that  I  had  at  laft  found  an  opportunity  to  fhew  my 
good-will  by  this  mean  work,  that  I  regretted  my 
little'  George  was  not  big  enough  to  contribute  his 
fhare  to  our  lupport  by  travelling  about  to  fell  my 
nets. 

Cabbage-nets !  exclaimed  Bragwell ;  there  is 
no  bearing  this. — Cabbage-nets!  My  grandfon 
hawk  cabbage-nets!  How  could  you  think, of 
fuch  a  fcandalous  thing  ? — Sir,  laid  Mrs.  Incle, 
mildly,  1  am  now  convinced  that  nothing  is  fcan¬ 
dalous  which  is  not  wicked.  Befides,  we  were  in 
want;  and  neceflity,  as  well  as  piety,  would  have 
reconciled  me  to  this  mean  trade.  Mr.  Bragwell 
groaned,  and  bade  her  go  on. 

'  In  the  mean  time,  my  little  George  grew  a  fine 


£38  rFhe  Two-  Wealthy  Farmers . 

boy  ;  and  I  adored  the  goodnefs  of  God,  who,  in 
the  fweetnefs  of  maternal  love,  had  given  me  a 
reward  for  many  {offerings.  Inftead  of  indulging 
a  gloomy  diftruft  about  the  fate  of  this  child,  I  now 
reffgned  him  to  the  will  of  God.  Inftead  of  la¬ 
menting,  becaufe  he  was  not  likely  to  be  rich,  I 
was  rel'olved  to  bring  him  up  with  fuch  notions  as 
might  make  him  contented  to  be  poor.  I  thought, 
if  I  could  fubdue  all  vanity  and  felfifhnefs  in  him, 
I  fhould  make  him  a  happier  man  than  if  I  had 
thoufands  to  beftow  on  him  ;  and  I  trufted,  that  I 
fhould  be  rewarded  for  every  painful  adt  of  pre¬ 
fect  felf  denial,  by  the  future  virtue  and  happinefs 
of  my  child.  Can  you  believe  it,  my  dear  father, 
my  days  now  paft  not  unhappily  ?  I  worked  hard  all 
day,  and  that  alone  is  a  fource  of  happinefs  beyond 
what  the  idle  can  guefs.  After  my  child  was 
afteep  at  night,  I  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  to  my 
parents,  whofe  eyes  now  began  to  fail  them.  We 
then  thanked  God  over  our  frugal  fupper  of  po¬ 
tatoes,  and  talked  over  the  holy  men  of  old,  the 
faints,  and  the  martyrs,  who  would  have  thought 
our  homely  fare  a  luxury.  We  compared  our 
peace,  and  liberty,  and  fafety,  with  their  bonds, 
and  imprifonment,  and  tortures ;  and  fhould  have 
been  aftiamed  of  a  murmur.  We  then  jomed  in 
prayer,  in  which  my  abfent  parents  and  my  huf- 
band  were  never  forgotten,  and  went  to  reft  ?n 
charity  with  the  whole  world,  and  at  peace  in  our 
own  fouls. 

Oh !  my  forgiving  child !  interrupted  Mr, 
Brawell,  fobbing,  and  didft  thou  really  pray  for 
thy  unnatural  father,  and  lie  down  in  reft  and 
peace  ?  Then  let  me  tell  thee,  thou  waft  better 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers.  239 

off  than  thy  mother  and  I  were. — But  no  more  of 
this ;  go  on. 

Whether  my  father-in-law  had  worked  beyond 
his  ftrength,  in  order  to  fupport  me  and  my  child, 
I  know  not,  but  he  was  taken  dangeroufly  ill.— 
While  he  lay  in  this  ftate,  we  received  an  account 
that  my  hufband  was  dead  in  the  Weft  Indies,  of 
the  yellow  fever,  which  has  carried  off  fuch  num¬ 
bers  of  our  countrymen ;  we  all  wept  together, 
and  prayed  that  his  awful  death  might  quicken  us 
in  preparing  for  our  own.  This  fhock,  joined  to 
the  fatigue  of  nurfing  her  Tick  hufband,  foon 
brought  my  poor  mother  to.  death’s  door.  I  nurf- 
ed  them  both,  and  felt  a  fatisfadion  in  giving  them 
all  I  had  to  beftow,  my  attendance,  my  tears,  and 
my  prayers.  I,  who  was  once  fo  nice  and  fo  proud, 
fo  difdainful  in  the  midft  of  plenty,  and  fo  impa¬ 
tient  under  the  fmalleft  inconvenience,  was  now 
enabled  to  glorify  God  by  my  afliviry  and  my  fub- 
million.  Though  the  borrows  of  my  heart  were 
enla/ged,  I  call  my  burthen  on  him  who  cares  for 
the  weary  and  heavy  laden.  After  having  watch¬ 
ed  by  thefe  poor  people  the  whole  night,  I  fat 
down  to  breakfaft  on  my  dry  cruft  and  coarfe  difh 
of  tea,  without  a  murmur;  my  greateft  grief  was, 
left  I  fhould  bring  away  the  infection  to  my  dear 
boy.  I  prayed  to  know  what  it  was  my  duty  to 
do  between  my  dying  parents,  and  my  helplefs 
child.  To  take  care  of  the  fick  and  aged,  fee  tri¬ 
ed  to  be  my  duty.  So  1  offered  up  my  child  to 
him  who  is  the  father  of  the  fatherkfs,  and  he 
fpared  him  to  me. 

The  chearful  piety  with  which  thele  good  people 
breathed  their  laff,  proved  to  me,  that  the  temper 


240  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

of  mind  with  which  the  pious  poor  commonly 
meet  death,  is  the  grand  compenfation  made  them 
by  Providence  for  all  the  hardfhips  of  their  in¬ 
ferior  condition.  If  they  have  had  few  joys  and 
comforts  in  life  already,  and  have  ft  ill  fewer  hopes 
in  (lore,  is  not  all  fully  made  up  to  them  by  their 
being  enabled  to  leave  this  world  with  ftronger  de¬ 
fires  of  heaven,  and  without  thofe  bitter  regrets  af¬ 
ter  the  good  things  of  this  life,  which  add  to  the  dy¬ 
ing  tortures  of  the  worldly  rich?  To  the  forlorn 
and  deftitute  death  is  not  terrible,  as  it  is  to  him 
who  fits  at  eaje  in  his  pJfeJ)ionsy  and  who  fears  that 
this  night  his  foul  fhall  be  required  of  him. 

Mr.  Bragwell  felt  this  remark  more  deeply  than 
his  daughter  meant  he  fhould.  He  wept  and 
bade  her  proceed. 

I  followed  my  departed  parents  to  the  fame 
grave,  and  wept  over  them,  but  not  as  one  who 
had  no  hope.  They  had  neither  houfes  nor  lands 
to  leave  me,  but  they  left  me  their  Bible,  their 
blefling,  and  their  example,  of  which  I  humbly 
truft  I  fhall  feel  the  benefits  when  all  the  riches  of 
this  world  fhall  have  an  end.  Their  few  effects, 
confiding  of  feme  poor  houfehold  goods,  and 
fome  working-tools,  hardly  fufficed  to  pay  their 
funeral  expences.  I  was  foon  attacked  with  the 
fame  fever,  and  faw  myfelf,  as  I  thought,  dying 
the  fecond  time;  my  danger  was  the  fame,  but 
my  views  were  changed.  I  now  faw  eternity  in  a 
more  awful  light  than  I  had  done  before,  when  I 
wickedly  thought  death  might  be  gloomily  called 
upon  as  a  refuge  from  every  common  trouble. — 
Though  I  had  ftill  reafon  to  be  humbled  on  ac¬ 
count  of  my  fin,  yet,  through  the  grace  of  God, 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  24 r 

I  law  death  ftripped  of  his  (ling,  and  robbed  of 
liis  terrors,  through  him  who  loved  me,  and  had 
given  hhnjelffor  me  ;  and  in  the  extremity  of  pain, 
my  foul  rejoiced  in  God  my  Saviour . 

I  recovered,  however,  and  was  chiefly  fupport- 
ed  by  the  kind  clergyman's  charity.  When  I  felt 
myfelf  nourished  and  cheered  by  a  little  tea  or 
broth,  which  he  daily  fent  me  from  his  own  flender 
provifion,  my  heart  fmote  me,  to  think  how  I 
had  daily  fat  down  at  home  to  a  plentiful  dinner, 
without  any  fenfe  of  thankfulnefs  for  my  own 
abundance,  or  without  enquiring  whether  my  poor 
flick  neighbours  were  ftarving;  and  I  forrowfuliy 
remembered,  that  what  my  poor  filler  and  I  ufed 
to  wade  through  daintinels,  would  now  have  com¬ 
fortably  fed  myfelf  and  child.  Believe  me,  my 
Gear  mother,  a  labouring  man,  who  has  been 
brought  low  by  a  fever,  might  often  be  reftored 
to  his  work  fome  weeks  fooner,  if  on  his  recovery 
lie  was  nourifhed  and  ftrengthened  by  a  good  bit  ^ 
from  a  farmer’s  table.  Leis  than  is  often  thrown 
to  a  favourite  fpaniel  would  fuflice,  fo  that  the  ex¬ 
pence  would  be  almoft  nothing  to  the  giver,  while 
to  the  receiver  it  would  bring  health,  and  ftrength, 
and  comfort. 

By  the  time  I  was  tolerably  recovered,  I  was 
forced  to  leave  the  houle.  I  had  no  human  prof- 
pedt  of  fubflftence.  I  humbly  alked  God  to 
direfl  my  fteps,  and  to  give  me  entire  obedience 
to  his  will.  I  then  caft  my  eyes  mournfully  on 
my  child,  and  though  prayer  had  relieved  my 
heart  of  a  load  which  without  it  would  have  been 
intolerable  ;  my  tears  flowed  fall,  while  I  cried 

M 


242  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

out  in  the  bitternefs  of  my  fou),  How  many  hired 
f  wants  of  my  father  have  bread  enough ,  and  tofparey 
and  I perijh  with  hunger  ?  This  text  appeared  a 
kind  of  anfwer  to  my  prayer,  and  gave  me  cou¬ 
rage  to  make  one  more  attempt  to  ioften  you  in 
my  favour.  I  refolved  to  fet  out  dire&ly  to  find 
you,  to  confefs  my  difobedience,  and  to  beg  a 
'  v fcanty  pittance,  with  which  I  and  my  child  might 
be  meanly  fupportedin  fomediftant  country, where 
we  fhould  not  difgrace  our  more  happy  relations. 
We  fet  out  and  travelled  as  faft  as  my  weak  health 
and  poor  George’s  little  feet  and  ragged  fhoes  would 
permit.  I  brought  a  little  bundle  of  fuch  woik 
and  necelfaries  as  I  had  left,  by  felling  which  we 
fubfifted  on  the  road.— I  hope,  interrupted  Brag- 
well,  there  were  no  cabbage- nets  in  it. — At  leaft, 
faid  her  mother,  I  hope  you  did  not  fell  them  near 
home. — No;  I  had  none  left,  faid  Mrs.  Incle, 
or  I  fhould  have  done  it.  I  got  many  a  lift  in  a 
waggon  for  my  child  and  my  bundle,  which  was  a 
great  relief  to  me.  And  here  I  cannot  help  fay¬ 
ing,  I  wifh  drivers  would  not  be  too  hard  in  their 
demands)  if  they  help  a  poor  Tick  traveller  on  a 
mile  or  two  ;  it  proves  a  great  relief  to  weary  bo¬ 
dies  and  naked  feetj  and  fuch  little  cneap  chari¬ 
ties  may  be  confidered  as  the  cup  of  cold  watery 
which,  if  given  on  right  grounds,  Jhall  not  lofeits 
reward. — Here  Bragweil  fighed,  to  think  that 
when  mounted  on  his  fine  bay  mare,  or  driving  his 
neat  chaife,  it  had  never  once  crofied  his  mind 
that  the  poor  way-worn  foot  traveller  was  not 
equally  at  his  eafe,  or  that  fhoes  were  a  neceflary 
accommodation.  Thofe  who  want  nothing  are 


\ 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers .  245 

apt  to  forget  how  many  there  are  who  want  every 
thing. — Mrs.  Incle  went  on:  I  got  to  this  village 
about  feven  this  evening,  and  while  I  fat  on  the 
church-yard  wall  to  reft  and  meditate  how  I  fhould 
make  myfelf  known  at  home,  J  faw  a  funeral  ;  I 
enquired  whofe  it  was,  and  learnt  it  was  my  filler’s,. 
This  was  too  much  for  me.  I  funk  down  in  a  fit, 
and  knew  nothing  that  happened  to  me  from  that 
moment,  till  I  found  myfelf  in  the  Workhoufe 
with  my  father  and  Mr.  Worthy. 

Here  Mrs.  Incle  Hopped.  Grief,  fliame,  pride, 
and  remorfe,  had  quite  overcome  Mr.  BragwelL 
He  wept  like  a  child;  and  laid,  he  hoped  his 
daughter  would  pray  for  him,  for  that  he  was  not 
in  a  condition  to  pray  for  himfelf,  though  he  found 
nothing  elfe  could  give  him  any  comfort.  His 
deep  deje&ion  brought  on  a  fit  of  ficknefs:  O! 
laid  he,  1  now  begin  to  feel  an  exprelhon  in  the 
facrament  which  I  ufed  to  repeat  without  thinking 
it  had  any  meaning,  the  remembrance  of  my  fins  is 
grievous ,  the  burthen  of  them  is  intolerable .  O,  it 
is  awful  to  think  what  a  linner  a  man  may  be,  and 
yet  retain  a  decent  character !  How  many  thou- 
lands  are  in  my  condition,  taking  to  themfelves  all 
the  credit  of  their  profperity,  inftead  of  giving 
God  the  glory !  Heaping  up  riches  to  their  hurt^ 
inftead  of  dealing  their  bread  to  the  hungry !  O, 
let  thofe  who  hear  of  the  Bragwell  family,  never 
lay  that  vanity  is  a  little  fin.  In  me  it  has  been  the 
fruitful  parent  of  a  thoufand  fins,  felfifhnefs, 
hardnefs  of  heart,  forgetfulnels  of  God.  In  one  of 
my  fons  vanity  was  the  caufe  of  rapine,  injuftice. 

M  2 


.2  44  '1'be  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

extravagance,  ruin,  lelf-murder.  Both  my  daugh¬ 
ters  were  “undone  by  vanity,  though  it  only  wore 
the  more  harmlefs  fhape  of  drefs,  idleness,  and 
diflipation.  The  hufband  of  my  daughter  Incle 
it  deflroyed,  by  leading  him  to  live  above  his 
llation,  and  to  defpile  labour.  Vanity  enfnared 
the  fouls  even  of  his  pious  parents;  for  while  it  led 
them  to  wifh  to  lee  their  fon  in  a  better  condition, 
it  led  them  to  allow  him  fuch  indulgences  as  were 
unfit  for  his  own.  O,  you  who  hear  of  us,  hum¬ 
ble  yourfelves  under  the  mighty  hand  of  God; 
re  lift  high  thoughts  ;  let  every  imagination  be 
brought  into  obedience  to  the  Son  of  God.  If 
you  fet  a  value  on  finery,  look  into  that  grave; 
behold  the  mouldering  body  of  my  Betfy,  who 
now  fays  to  Corruption,  thou  art  my  father,  and  to 
the  worm ,  thou  art  my  mother  and  my  fifter.  Look 
at  the  bloody  and  brainlefs  head  of  her  hufband. 
O,  Mr.  Worthy,  how  does  Providence  mock  at 
human  forefight!  I  have  been  greedy  of  gain, 
that  the  fon  of  Mr.  Squeeze  might  be  a  great 
inan;  he  is  dead;  while  the  child  of  Timothy 
Incle,  whom  I  had  doomed  to  beggary,  will  be 
my  heir.  Mr.  Worthy,  to  you  I  commit  this 
boy’s  education;  teach  him  to  value  his  immor¬ 
tal  foul  more,  and  the  good  things  of  this  life 
lefs,  than  l  have  done-.  Bring  him  up  in  the  fear 
of  God,  and  in  the  government  of  his  paffions. 
Teach  him  that  unbelief  and  pride  are  at  the 
root  of  ail  fin.  I  have  found  this  to  my  cod.  I 
traded  in  my  riches ;  I  laid,  to-morrow  (hall  be 
as  this  day,  and  more  abundant.  I  did  not  re¬ 
member  that  for  all  thefe  things  God  would  bring 


H'S 


The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

me  to  judgment .  I  am  not  fure  that  I  believed  in 
ajudgment. 

Bragwell  at  length  grew  better,  but  he  never 
recovered  his  fpirits.  The  condu&  of  Mrs. 
Incle  through  life  was  that  of  an  humble  Chriftian. 
She  fold  all  her  filler's  finery,  which  her  father 
had  given  her,  and  gave  the  money  to  the  poor, 
faying,  it  did  not  become  one  who  profefTed  pe¬ 
nitence,  to  return  to  the  gaieties  of  life.  Mr. 
Bragwell  did- not  dppofe  this;  not  that  he  had 
fully  acquired  a  juft  notion  of  the  felf  denying 
i'piric  or  religion,  but  having  a  head  not  very  clear 
at  making  diftindhons,  he  was  never  able,  after 
the  fight  or  Squeeze's  mangled  body,  to  think'  of 
gaiety  and  grandeur,  without  thinking  at  the  fame 
time,  of  a  piftol  and  bloody  brains;  for,  as  his 
firft  introduction  into  gay  life  had  prefented  him 
with  all  thde  objects  at  one  view,  he  never  after¬ 
wards  could  feparate  them  in  his  mind.  He  even 
kept  his  fine  beaufet  of  plate  always  .{hut,  becaufe 
it  brought  to  his  mind  the  grand  unpaid-for  fide- 
board  that  he  had  feen  laid  out  for  Mr.  Squeeze’s 
fupper,  to  the  remembrance  of  which  he  could 
not  help  tacking  debts,  priibns,  executions,  and 
felf- murder. 

Mr.  BragwelPs  heart  had  been  fo  buried  in  the 
Jove  of  the  world,  and  evil  habits  were  become  fo 
rooted  in  him,  that  the  progrefs  he  made  in  reli¬ 
gion  was  very  flow;  yet  he  earneftly  prayed  and 
ftruggled  againft  vanity  :  and  when  his  unfeeling 
wife  declared  fhe  could  not  love  the  boy  unlefs  he 
'was  called  by  their  name  inftead  of  Incle,  Mr. 
Bragwell  would  never  confent,  faying,  he  flood 

M  3 


l 


fa  « 


a  4  6  The  Two  Wealthy  Farmers . 

in  need  of  every  help  againft  pride.  He  alfo  got 
the  letter  which  Squeeze  wrote  juft  before  he  fhot 
himfelf,  framed  and  glazed;  this  he  hungup  in 
his  chamber  and  made  it  a  rule  to  go  and  read 
it  as  often  as  he  found  his  heart  difpofed  to 
VANITY,  Z. 


l  • 


M  i 


■ 


THE 


Tom  WHITE  was  one  of  the  beft  drivers  of 
a  poft-chaife  on  the  Bath  road.  Tom  was  the  foil 
of  an  honeft  labourer  at  a  little  village  in  Wiit- 
fnire :  he  was  an  adlive  induftrious  boy,  and  as 
foon  as  he  was  big  enough  he  left  his  father,  who 
was  burthened  with  a  numerous  family,  and  went 
to  live  with  farmer  Hodges,  a  fober  worthy  man 
in  the  fame  village.  He  drove  the  yvaggon  all 

M  4 


HISTORY 

©  F 

T  O  M  W  HITE, 

THE  POSTILION. 


Tom  White ,  the  Poftilion , 

the  week ;  and  on  Sundays,  though  he  was  now 
grown  lip,  the  farmer  required  him  to  attend  the 
Sunday -fchool,  carried  on- under  the  infpedtion  of 
Dr.  Shepherd,  the  worthy  Vicar,  and  always  made 
him  read  his  Bible  in  the  evening  after  he  had 
ierved  his  beads i  and  would  have  turned  him 
out  of  his  fervice  if  he  had  ever  gone  to  the  ale- 
houfe  for  his  own  pleafure. 

Tom,  by  carrying  fome  waggon  loads  of  fag¬ 
gots  to  the  Bear-inn,  at  Devizes,  foon  made  many 
acquaintances  in  the  (table-yard.  He  foon  learnt 
to  compare  his  own  carter’s  frock,  and  (hoes 
thick  fet  with  nails,  with  the  (mart  red  jacket,  and 
tight  boots  of  the  poft-boys,  and  grew  aihamed 
of  his  own  homely  drefs;  he  was  refolved  to  drive 
a  chaife,  to  get  money,  and  to  fee  the  world. 
Toolifh  fellow  !  he  never  confidered,  that,  though 
it  is  true,  a  waggoner  works  hard  all  day,  yet  he 
gets  a  quiet  evening  and  undifturbed  reft  at  night. 
However,  as  there  muft  be  chaife- boys  as  well  as 
plow-boys,  there  .was  no  great  harm  in  the 
change.  The  evil  company  to  which  it  expofed 
him,  was  the  chief  mifchief.  He  left  farmer 
Hodges,  though  not  without  forrow  at  quitting 
ib  kind  a  m after,  and  got  himfelf  hired  at  the 
Black  Bear. 

Notwithftanding  the  temptations  to  which  he 
was  now  expofed,  Tom’s  good  education  flood 
by  him  for  fome  time.  At  hr  ft  he  was  frightened 
to  hear  the  oaths  and  wicked  words  which  are  too 
often  uttered  in  a  ftable-yard.  However,  though 
he  thought  it  very  wrong,  he  had  not  the  courage 
to  reprove  it,  and  the  next  ftep  to  being  eafy  at 
feeing  others  fin,  is  to  fin  ourfelves.  By  degrees 


Tom 'White,  the  Pofiilion .  249 

he  began  to  think  it  manly,  and  a  mark  of  fpir-it 
in  others  to  fwekr ;  though  the  force  of  good  ha¬ 
bits  was  fo  ftrong,  that  at  hrft  when  he  ventured 
to  fwear  himfelf  it  was  with  fear,  and  in  a  low 
voice.  But  he  was  foon  laughed  out  of  his 
fheepifhnefs,  as  they  called  it;  and  though  he  never 
became  fo  profane  and  blafphemous  as  fome  ot 
his  companions,  (for  he  never  fwore  in  cool  blood, 
or  in  mirth,  as  fo  many  do,)  yet  he  would  too 
often  ufe  a  dreadful  bad  word  whe_n  he  was  in  a' 
paffion  with  his  horfes.  And  here  I  cannot  but 
drop  a  hint  on  the  great  folly,  as  well  as  wicked- 
nefs,  of  being  in  a  great  rage  with  poor  beads, 
who,  not  having  the  gift  of  reafon,  cannot  be 
moved  like  human  creatures,  with  all  the  wicked 
words  that  are  faicl  to  them;  though  thefe  dumb 
creatures,  unhappily,  having  the  gift  of  feeling, 
buffer  as  much  as  human  creatures  can  do,  at  the 
cruel  and  unneedfary  beatings  given  them.  Fie  . 
had  been  bred  up  to  think  that  drunkennefs  was  a 
great  fin,  for  he  never  faw  farmer  FTodges  drunk 
in  his  life,  and  where  a  farmer  is  fober  himfelf  his 
men  are  lefs  likely  to  drink,  or  if  they  do,  the 
maker  can  reprove  them  with  the  better  grace. 

Tom  was  not  naturally  fond  of  drink,  yet  for 
the  fake  of  being  thought  merry  company,  and 
a  hearty  feilow,  he  often  drank  more  than  he 
ought.  As  he  had  been  ufed  to  go  to  church 
twice  on  a  Sunday,  while  he  lived  with  the  far¬ 
mer,  who  feldom  ufed  his  horfes  on  that  day,  ex¬ 
cept  to  carry  his  wife  to  church  behind  him,  T oni 
felt  a  little  uneafy  when  he  was  lent  the  very  drib 
Sunday  a  long  journey  with  a  great  family  ;  for  I 
cannot  conceal  the  truth,  that  too  many  gentle- 

M  J  " 


* 

'  ajo  Tom  White ,  the  Pojtilidn . 

folks  will  travel  when  there  is  no  necefiity  for  it 
on  a  Sunday,  and  when  Monday  would  anfwer 
the  end  juft  as  well.  This  is  a  great  grief  to  all 
good  and  fober  people,  both  rich  and  poor;  and 
it  is  ftill  more  inexcufable  in  the  great,  who  have 
every  day  at  their  command.  However,  he  kept 
his  thoughts  to  himfelf,  though  he  could  not  now 
and  then  help  thinking  how  quietly  things  were 
going  on  at  the  farmer’s,  whofe  waggoner  on 
a  Sunday  led  as  eafy  a  life  as  if  he  had  been  a 
gentleman.  But  he  foon  loft  all  thoughts  of  this 
kind,  and  did  not  know  a  Sunday  from  a  Mon¬ 
day.  Tom  went  on  profperoufly,  as  it  is  called, 
for  three  or  four  years,  got  plenty  of  money,  but 
faved  not  a  ftiilling.  As  foon  as  his  horfes  were 
once  in  the  ftable,  whoever  would  might  fee  them 
fed  for  Tom. — He  had  other  fifh  to  fry. — Fives, 
cards,  cudgel-playing,  laying  wagers,  and  keep¬ 
ing  loofe  company,  each  of  which  he  at  ftrft  dif- 
liked,  and  then  pradtifed,  ran  away  with  all  his 
money,  and  all  his  fpare  time  ;  and  though  he 
was  generally  in  the  way  as  foon  as  the  horfes 
were  ready,  (becaufe  if  there  was  no  driving  there 
was  no  pay,)  yet  he  did  not  care  whether  the  car¬ 
riage  was  clean,  or  the  horfes  looked  well,  if  the 
harnefs  was  whole,  or  the  horfes  were  fhod.  The 
certainty  that  the  gains  of  to-morrow  would  make 
up.  for  the  extravagance  of  to-day,  made  him 
quite  thoughtlefs  and  happy,  for  he  was  young, 
adtive,  and  healthy,  and  never  forefaw  that  a  rainy 
day  might  come,  when  he  would  want  what  he 
now  fquandered. 

One  day  being  a  little  fluttered  with  liquor  as 
he  was  driving  his  return  chaife  through  Brent- 


Tom  White,  the  Pojtilicn .  25 1 

ford,  he  faw  juft  before  him  another  empty  car¬ 
riage,  driven  by  one  of  his  acquaintance:  he 
whipped  up  his  horfes,  refolving  to  outftrip  the 
other,  and  {wearing  dreadfully  that  he  would  be 
at  the  Red  Lion  firft — for  a  pint, — done,  cried 
the  other — a  wager.— Both  cut  and  fpurred  the 
poor  beafts  with  the  ufual  fury,  as  if  their  credit 
had  been  really  at  ftake,  or  their  lives  had  de¬ 
pended  on  this  foolifh  conteft.  Tom's  chaife 
had  now  got  up  to  that  of  his  rival,  and  they 
drove  along-fide  of  each  other  with  great  fury 
and  many  imprecations.  But  in  a  narrow  parr, 
Tom’s  chaife  being  in  the  middle,  with  his  anta-* 
gonift  on  one  fide,  and  a  cart  driving  againft  him 
on  the  other,  the  horfes  reared,  the  carriages  got 
entangled ;  Tom  roared  out  a  great  oath  to  the 
other  to  ftop,  which  he  either  could  not,  or  would 
not,  but  returned  an  horrid  imprecation  that  he 
would  win  the  wager  if  he  was  alive.  Tom’s 
horfes  took  fright,  and  he  was  throwm  to  the 
ground  with  great  violence.  As  foon  as  he  could 
be  got  from  under  the  wheels,  he  was  taken  up 
fenfelefsj  his  leg  was  broke  in  two  places,  and  his 
body  much  bruifed.  Some  people  whom  ithe 
noife  had  brought  together,  put  him  in  the  poft- 
chaife,  in  which  the  waggoner  kindly  affifted,  but 
the  other  driver  feemed  cardefs  and  indifferent, 
and  drove  off,  obferving  with  a  brutal  coolnefs,  I 
am  forry  I  have  loft  my  pint  ;  I  fhould  have  beat 
him  hollow,  had  it  not  been  for  this  little  accident , 
Some  gentlemen  who  came  out  of  the  inn,  after 
reprimanding  this  favage,  inquired  who  he  was, 
wrote  to  inform  his  mafter,  and  got  him  dif- 
chargei ;  refolving  that  neither  they  nor  any  of 


25  2  %  lorn  White ,  the  Toftilion. 

their  friends  would  ever  employ  him,  and  he  was 
long  out  of  place,  and  nobody  ever  cared  to  be 
driven  by  him. 

Tom  was  taken  to  one  of  thofe  excellent  hos¬ 
pitals  with  which  London  abounds.  His  agonies 
-were  dreadful,  his  leg  was  fet,  and  a  high  fever 
came  on.  As  foon  as  he  was  left  alone  to  reflect 
on  his  condition,  his  firfl  thought  was  that  he 
Should  die,  and  his  horror  was  inconceivable. — 
Alas  !  faid  he,  what  will  become  of  my  poor  foul? 
I  am  cut  off  in  the  very  commiffon  of  three  great 
fins  : — 1  was  drunk,  I  was  in  a  horrible  paffion, 
and  I  had  oaths  and  blafphemies  in  my  mouth. — 
He  tried  to  pray,  but  he  could  not.  His  mind 
was  all  diflradfion,  and  he  thought  he  was  fo  very 
wicked  that  God  would  not  forgive  him;  becaufe, 
fays  he,  i  have  finned  againfr  light  and  know¬ 
ledge,  and  a  fober  education,  and  good  examples ; 
J  was  bred  in  the  fear  of  God,  and  the  knowledge 
of  Chrifl,  and  I  deferve  nothing  but  punifhment. 

« — At  length,  he  grew  light-headed,  and  there  was 
little  hopes  ofhis  life.  Whenever  he  came  to  his 
fenfes  for  a  few  minutes,  he  cried  out,  O  !  that 
my  old  companions  could  now  fee  me,  Surely  they 
would  take  warning  by  my  fad  fate,  and  repent 
before  it  is  too  late. 

By  the  bleffing  of  God  on  the  Skill  of  the  Sur¬ 
geon,  and  the  care  of  the  nurfes,  he,  however, 
grew  better  in  a  few  days.  And  here  let  me  ftop 
to  remark,  what  a  mercy  it  is  that  we  live  in  a 
chriftian  country,  where  the  poor,  when  Sick  or 
lame,  or  wounded,  are  taken  as  much  care  of  as 
any  gentry;  nay,  in  Some  refpeffs  more,  becaufe 
in  hofpitals,  and  infirmaries,  there  are  more  doc- 

5 


Tom  White,  the  Pofiilion.  <i$y- 

tors  and  furgeons  to  attend,  than  mod  private 
gentlefolks  can  afford  to  have  at  their  own 
houies,  whereas  there  never  was  an  hofpital  in  the 
whole  heathen  world.  Bleffed  be  God  for  this, 
among  the  thoufand  other  excellent  fruits  of  the 
Chriftian  Religion! 

It  was  eight  weeks  before  Tom  could  be  taken 
out  of  bed.  This  was  a  happy  affiidtion  ;  for  by 
the  grace  of  God  this  long  ficknefs  and  folitu.de 
gave  him  time  to  reffedt  on  his  pad  life.  He 
began  ferioufly  to  hate  thofe  darling  fins  which 
had  brought  him  to  the  brink  of  ruin.  .  He  could 
now  pray  heartily  y  he  confeffed  and  lamented 
his  iniquities  with  many  tears,  and  began  to 
hope,  that  the  mercies  of  God,  through  the  me¬ 
rits  of  a  Redeemer,  might  yet  be  extended  to 
him  on  his  fncere  repentance.  He  refolved 
never  more  to  return  to  the  fame  evil  courfes, 
but  he  did  not  trud  in  his  own  ftrength,  but 
prayed  that  God  would  give  him  grace  for  the 
future,  as  well  as  pardon  for  the  pad.  He  re¬ 
membered,  and  he  was  humbled  at  the  thought, 
that  he  uled  to  have  fhort  fits  of  repentance,  and 
to  form  refolutions  of  amendment,  in  his  wild  and 
thoughtlefs  days,  and  often  when  he  had  a  bad 
head-ach  after  a  drinking  bout,  or  had  3od  his 
money  at  all-fours,  he  vowed  never  to  drink  or 
play  again.  But  as  foon  as  his  head  was  well, 
and  his  pockets  recruited,  he  forgot  all  his  refo¬ 
lutions.  And  how  fhould  it  be  otherwife?  for 
he  truded  in  his  own  ftrength,  he  never  prayed 
to  God  to  ftrengthen  him,  nor  ever  avoided  the 
next  temptation.  He  did  not  know  that  it  is  the 
grace  of  God  which  bringeth  us  to  repentance. 


254  r£°m  White y  the  Poftilion . 

The  cafe  was  now  different.  Tom  began  to 
find  that  his  ftrength  was  perfect  weaknejsy  and 
that  he  could  do  nothing  without  the  Divine 
affiffance,  for  which  he  prayed  heartily  and  con- 
flantly.  Pie  fent  home  for  his  Bible,  and  Prayer- 
book,  which  he  had  not  opened  for  two  years, 
and  which  had  been  given  him  when  he  left  the 
Sunday  School.  Pie  fpent  the  chief  part  of  his 
time  in  reading  them,  and  derived  great  comfort, 
as  well  as  great  knowledge  from  them.  The 
ftudy  of  the.  Bible  filled  his  heart  with  gratitude 
to  God,  who  had  not  cut  him  off  in  the  midft  of 
his  fins,  but  had  given  him  fpace  for  repentance ; 
and  the  agonies  he  had  lately  buffered  with  his 
broken  leg  increafed  his  thankfulnefs,  that  he 
had  efcaped  the  more  dreadful  pain  of  eternal 
mifery.  And  here  let  me  remark  what  encou¬ 
ragement  this  is  for  rich  people  to  give  awa y 
Bibles  and  good  books,  and  not  to  lofe  all  hope, 
though,  for  a  time,  they  fee  little,  or  no  good 
effedf  from  it.  According  to  all  appearance, 
Tom’s  were  never  likely  to  do  him  any  good, 
and  yet  his  generous  benefadlor  who  had  caff  his 
bread  upon  the  waters,  found  it  after  many  days, 
for  this  Bible,  which  had  laid  untouched  for  years, 
was  at  laft  made  the  means  of  his  reformation. 
God  will  work  in  his  own  good  time,  and  in  his 
own  way. 

As  foon  as  he  got  well,  and  was  difcharged 
from  the  hofpital,  Tom  began  to  think  he  muff 
return  to  get  his  bread.  At  firft  he  had  fome 
fcruples  about  going  back  to  his  old  employ: 
but,  fays  he,  fenfibly  enough,  gentlefolks  muff 
travel,  travellers  muff  have  chaifes,  and  chaifes 


Tom  White,  the  Poftilion. 

mu  ft  have  drivers  :  'tis  a  very  honeft  calling,  and 
I  don't  know  that  goodnefs  belongs  to  one  fort  of 
bufinefs  more  than  another ;  and  he  who  can  be 
good  in  a  ftate  of  great  temptation,  provided  the 
calling  be  lawful,  and  the  temptations  are  not  of 
his  own  feeking,  and  he  be  diligent  in  prayer,  may 
be  better  than  another  man  for  ought  I  know : 
and  all  that  belongs  to  us  is,  to  do  our  duty  in  that 
ftate  of  life  in  which  it  ft  all  pleafe  God  to  call  us . 
Tom  had  rubbed  up  his  catechifm  at  the  hofpital, 
and  ’tis  a  pity  that  people  don’t  look  at  their  cate¬ 
chifm  fometimes  when  they  are  grown  ups  for  it 
is  full  as  good  for  men  and  women  as  it  is  for 
children ;  nay,  better ;  for  though  the  anfwers 
contained  in  it  are  intended  for  children  to  repeat , 
yet  the  duties  enjoined  in  it  are  intended  for  men 
and  women  to  put  in  practice. 

Tom  now  felt  grieved  that  he  was  obliged 
to  drive  on  Sundays.  But  people  who  are  in 
earned,  and  have  their  hearts  in  a  thing,  can 
find  helps  in  all  cafes.  As  foon  as  he  had  fet 
down  his  company  at  their  ftage,  and  had  feen 
his  horfes  fed,  fays  Tom,  A  man  who  takes 
care  of  his  horfes,  will  generally  think  it  right 
to  let  them  reft  an  hour  or  two  at  leaft.  In  every 
town  it  is  a  chance  but  there  may  be  a  church 
open  during  part  of  that  time.  If  the  prayers 
fhould  be  over.  I’ll  try  hard  for  the  fermon  ;  and 
if  I  dare  not  ftay  to  the  fermon,  it  is  a  chance 
but  I  may  catch  the  prayers ;  it  is  worth  try~ 
ing  for,  however  ;  and  as  I  ufed  to  think  nothing 
of  making  a  pufh,  for  the  fake  of  getting  an 
hour  to  gamble,  I  need  not  to  grudge  to  take  a 
little  pains  extraordinary  to  ferve  God.  By  this 

6 


1 


256  JVhite ,  the  Pojlilion. 

watchfulnefs  he  foon  got  to  know  the  hours  of 
fervjce  at  all  the  towns  on  the  road  he  travelled, 
and  while  the  horfes  fed,  Tom  went  to  church  ; 
and  it  became  a  favourite  proverb  with  him,  that 
prayers  and  provender  hinder  no  man's  journey ;  and 
I  beg  leave  to  recommend  Tom’s  maxim  to  all 
travellers,  whether  mailer  or  lervant,  carrier  or 
coachman. 

At  fir  ft  his  companions  wanted  to  laugh  and 
make  Iport  or  this — -but  when  they  faw  that  no 
lad,  on  the^  road  was  up  fo  early  or  worked  fo 
hard  as  Tom  :  when  they  faw  no  chaife  fo  neat, 
no  glaffes  fo  bright,  no  harnefs  fo  tight,  no  driver 
lb  diligent,  fo  clean  or  fo  civil,  they  found  he 
was  no  fubjedl  to  make  fport  at.  Tom  indeed 
was  very  careful  in  looking  after  the  linch  pins; 
in  never  giving  his  horfes  too  much  water  when 
they  were  hot;  nor,  whatever  was  his  hafle, 
would  he  ever  gallop  them  up  hill,  ftrike  them 
acrofs  the  head,  or  when  tired,  cut  and  flafh 
them,  or  gallop  over  the  Hones,  as  foon  as  he 
got  into  a  town,  as  fome  foolilh  fellows  do. 
What  helped  to  cure  Tom  of  thefe  bad  practices, 
was,  that  remark  he  met  with  in  the  Bible,  that 
a  good  man  is  merciful  to  his  heaft .  He  was  much 
moved  one  day  on  reading  the  Prophet  Jonah, 
to  obferve  what  compaffion  the  great  God  of 
heaven  and  earth  had  for  poor  beafts :  for  one  of 
the  reafons  there  given,  why  the  Almighty  was 
unwilling  to  deflroy  the  great  city  of  Nineveh 
was,  hecauje  there  was  much  cattle  in  it.  After 
this,  Tom  never  could  bear  to  fee  a  wanton  flroke 
in  hided.  Doth  God  care  for  horfes,  laid  he,  and 
fnall  man  be  cruel  to  them  ? 


Tom  White ,  the  Poftilion.  257 

Tom  foon  grew  rich  for  one  in  his  ffation  j 
for  every  gentleman  on  the  road  would  be  driven 
by  no  other  lad  if  careful  Tom  was  to  be  had. 
Being  diligent,  he  got  a  great  deal  of  money  ; 
being  frugal,  h efpent  but  little  ;  and  having  no 
vices,  he  wafted  none.  He  foon  found  out  that 
there  was  fome  meaning  in  that  text  which  fays, 
that  Godline ! V  hath  the  promife  of  the  life  that  now 
is ,  as  well  as  of  that  which  is  to  come :  for  the 
fame  principles  which  make  a  man  fober  and 
honeft,  have  alfo  a  natural  tendency  to  make  him 
healthy  and  rich ;  while  a  drunkard  and  a  fpend- 
thrift  can  hardly  efcape  being  fick,  and  a  beggar 
in  the  end.  Vice  is  the  parent  of  rnifery  here  as 
well  as  hereafter. 

After  a  few  years  Tom  begged  a  holiday,  and 
made  a  vilit  to  his  native  village ;  his  good  cha¬ 
racter  had  got  thither  before  him.  He  found  his 
father  was  dead,  but  during  his  long  illnefs 
Tom  had  fupplied  him  with  money,  and  by  al¬ 
lowing  him  a  trifle  every  week,  had  had  the 
honefl:  fatisfadtion  of  keeping  him  from  the 
parifh.  Farmer  Hodges  was  ftill  living,  but 
being  grown  old  and  infirm,  he  was  defirous  to 
retire  from  bufinefs.  He  retained  a  great  re¬ 
gard  for  his  old  fervant,  Tom;  and  finding  he 
was  worth  money,  and  knowing  he  knew  fome- 
thing  of  country  bufinefs,  he  Offered  to  let  him 
a  fmall  firm  at  an  eafy  rate,  and  promifed  his 
a  ffi  fiance  in  the  management  for  the  firft  year, 
with  the  loan  of  a  fmall  fum  of  money,  that  he 
mi  gbt  fet  out  with  a  pretty  ftock.  Tom  thanked 
him  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  went  back  and  took  a 
handfome  leave  of  his  mafic r,  who  made  him  a 


\ 

258  Tom  Whitey  the  PojVilwn. 

prefent  of  a  horfe  and  cart,  in  acknowledgement 
of  his  long  and  faithful  fervices  :  for,  fays  he,  I 
have  faved  many  horfes  by  Tom's  care  and  at¬ 
tention,  and  I  could  well  afford  to  do  the  fame 
by  every  fervant  who  did  the  fame  by  me  ;  and 
liiould  be  a  richer  man  at  the  end  of  every  year 
by  the  fame  generofity,  provided  I  could  meet 
with  juft  and  faithful  fervants  who  deferved  the 
fame  rewards. 

Tom  was  foon  fettled  in  his  new  farm,  and  in 
lefs  than  a  year  had  got  every  thing  neat  and  de¬ 
cent  about  him.  Farmer  Hodges's  long  expe¬ 
rience  and  friendly  advice,  joined  to  his  own  in- 
duftry  and  hard  labour,  foon  brought  the  farm  to 
great  perfection.  The  regularity,  fobriety,  peace- 
ablenefs,  and  piety  . of  his  daily  life,  his  conftant 
attendance  at  Church  twice  every  Sunday,  and 
his  decent  and  devout  behaviour  when  there, 
foon  recommended  him  to  the  notice  of  Dr. 
Shepherd,  who  was  ftill  living,  a  pattern  of  zeal, 
adivity,  and  benevolence,  to  all  parifh  Priefts. 
The  doCtor  foon  began  to  hold  up  Tom,  or,  as 
we  muft  now  more  properly  term  him,  Mr.  Tho¬ 
mas  White,  to  the  imitation  of  the  whole  parifh, 
and  the  frequent  and  condefcending  converfation 
of  this  worthy  Clergyman,  contributed,  no  lefs 
than  his  preaching,  to  the  improvement  of  his 
new  parifhioner  in  piety. 

Farmer  White  foon  found  out  that  a  dairy 
could  not  well  be  carried  on  without  a  miftrefs, 
and  began  to  think  ferioufly  of  marrying;  he 
prayed  to  God  to  direCt  him  in  fo  important  a 
bufinefs.  He  knew  that  a  tawdry,  vain,  drefiy 
girl,  was  not  likely  to  make  good  cheefe  and 


Tom  White ,  the  PoJHtion.  259 

►  \ 

butter,  and  that  a  worldly  and  ungodly  woman 
would  make  a  fad  wife  and  miftrefs  of  a  family. 
He  foon  heard  of  a  young  woman  of  excellent 
chara&er,  who  had  been  bred  up  by  the  vicar  s 
lady,  and  ftill  lived  in  the  family  as  upper  maid. 
She  was  prudent,  fober,  induftricus  and  religi¬ 
ous.  Her  neat,  modeft,  and  plain  appearance 
at  church,  (for  fhe  was  feldom  feen  any  where 
elfe  out  of  her  matter's  family)  was  an  example 
to  all  perfons  in  her  ftation,  and  never  failed  to 
recommend  her  to  Grangers,  even  before  they 
had  an  opportunity  of  knowing  the  goodnefs  of 
her  chara&er.  It  was  her  chara&er,  however, 
'which  recommended  her  to  farmer  White.  He 
knew  that  favour  is  deceitful ,  arid  beauty  is  vain , 
but  a  woman  that  feareth  the  Lord ,  foe  jhall  be 
praifed : — aye,  and  not  only  praifed,  but  chofen 
too,  fays  Farmer  White,  as  he  took  down  his  hat 
from  the  nail  on  which  it  hung,  in  order  to  go  and 
wait  on  Dr.  Shepherd,  to  break  his  mind  and  afk 
his  confent ;  for  he  thought  it  would  be  a  very  tin- 
handfome  return  for  all  the  favours  he  was  receiv¬ 
ing  from  his  Minifter,  to  decoy  away  his  faithful, 
lervant  from  her  place  without  his  confent. 

This  worthy  gentleman,  though  forry  to  lofe  fo 
valuable  a  member  of  his  little  family,  did  not 
fcruple  a  moment  about  parting  with  her,  when 
he  found  it  would  be  fo  greatly  to,  her  advantage. 
Tom  was  agreeably  furp riled  to  hear  fhe  had  laved 
fifty  pounds  by  her  frugality.  The  doflor  mar¬ 
ried  them  himfelf.  Farmer  Hodges  being  prefent. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  wedding  day.  Dr.  Shep¬ 
herd  condefcended  to  call  on  Farmer  and  Mrs. 
White,  to  give  a  few  words  of  advice  on  the  new 


1 


ri6o 


Tom  White ^  the  Pofitlion, 

cuties  they  had  entered  into  *,  a  common  cuflorn. 
with  him  on  thofe  occahons.  He  often  took  an 
opportunity  to  drop,  in  the  mofl  kind  and  tender 
way,  a  hint  on  the  great  indecency  of  making 
marriages,  chriflenings,  and,  above  all,  funerals, 
days  or  riot  and  excefs,  as  is  too  often  the  cafe  in 
country  villages.  The  expectation  that  the  vicar 
might  poiiibly  drop  in,  in  bis  walks,  on  thefe  ref- 
tivities,  fometimes  retrained  excefhve  drinking, 
and  improper  converfation,  even  among  thole 
who  were  not  reflrained  by  higher  motives,  as  far¬ 
mer  and  Mrs,  White  were. 

What  the  dodlor  faid  was  always  in  fuch  a 
cheerful  good-humoured  way,  that  it  was  fure  to 
increafe  the  pleafure  of  the  day,  inflead  of  damp¬ 
ing  it.  Well,  farmer,  faid  he,  and  you,  my  faith- 
fin  Sarah,  any  other  friend  might  recommend 
peace  and  agreement  to  you  and  your  marriage  : 
but  I,  on  the  contrary,  recommend  cares  and 
krifes  *.  The  company  flared — but  Sarah,  who 
knew  that  her  old  mailer  was  a  facetious  gentle¬ 
man,  and  always  had  fome  good  meaning  behind, 
looked  ferious.  Cares  and  flrifes,  Sir,  faid.  the 
farmer,  what  do  you  mean  !  I  mean,  faid  he,  for 
the  firft,  that  your  cares  fhall  be  who  fhall  pleafe 
God  mofl,  and  your  flrifes,  who  Hi  all  ferve  him 
befl,  and  do  your  duty  mofl  faithfully.  Thus, 
all  your  cares  and  flrifes  being  employed  to  the 
highefl  purpofes,  all  petty  cares  and  worldly  flrifes 
fhall  be  at  an  end. 

Always  remember,  both  of  you,  that  you  have, 
both  of  you,  a  better  friend  than  each  other.— 

*  See  Dodd’s  Sayings. 


Tern  White,  the  P oft  Me  n .  26 1 

The  company  flared  again,  and -thought  no  wo¬ 
man  could  have  fo  good  a  friend  as  her  huihand. 
As  you  have  chofen  each  other  from  the  beft  mo¬ 
tives,  continued  the  doftor,  you  have  every  rea- 
fonable  ground  to  hope  for  happinefs ;  but  as  this 
world  is  a  foil,  in  which  troubles  and  misfortunes 
will  ipring  up ;  troubles  from  which  you  cannot 
fave  one  another  :  then  remember,  his  the  befl 
wildom  to  go  to  that  friend  who  is  always  near, 
always  willing,  and  always  able,  to  help  you,  and 
that  friend  is  God. 

Sir,  faid  Farmer  White,  I  humbly  thank  you 
for  all  your  kind  inflrudtions,  of  which  I  fhall  now 
fland  more  in  need  than  ever,  as  I  fhall  have 
more  duties  to  fulfil.  I  hope  the  remembrance 
of  my  paft  offences .  will  keep  me  humble,  and 
the  fenfe  of  my  remaining  fin  will  keep  me  watch¬ 
ful.  I  fet  out  in  the  world.  Sir,  with  what  is 
called  a  good  natural  difpofition,  but  I  foon  found, 
to  my  coff,  that  without  God’s  grace,  that  will 
carry  a  man  but  a  little  way.  A  good  temper  is 
a  good  thing,  but  nothing  but  the  fear  of  God 
can  enable  one  to  bear  up  againfl  temptation,  evil 
company,  and  evil  pailions.  The  misfortune  of 
breaking  my  leg,  as  I  then  thought  it,  has  proved 
the  greateff  blefling  of  my  life.  It  fhewed  me 
my  own  weaknefs,  the  value  of  the  Bible,  and  the 
goodnefs  of  God.  How  many  of  my  brother 
drivers  have  J  feen  fince  that  time,  cut  off  in  the 
prime  of  life  by  drinking,  or  by  fome  fudden  ac¬ 
cident,  while  I  have  not  only  been  fpared,  but 
blefled  arid  profpered.  O,  Sir  !  it  would  be  the 
joy  of  my  heart,  if  fome  of  my  old  comrades, 
good-natured,  civil  fellows,  (whom  l  can’t  help 


ClSq.  Tom  White ,  the  Poftilion. 

loving)  could  fee,  as  I  have  done,  the  danger  of 
evil  courfes  before  it  is  too  late.  Though  they 
may  not  hearken  to  you,  Sir,  or  any  other  Minify 
ter ,  they  may  believe  mey  becaufe  I  have  been 
one  of  them  :  and  I  can  fpeak  from  experience, 
of  the  great  difference  there  is,  even  as  to  worldly 
comfort,  between  a  life  of  fobriety  and  a  life  of 
fin.  I  could  tell  them,  Sir,  not  as  a  thing  I  have 
read  in  a  book,  but  as  a  truth  I  feel  in  my  own 
heart,  that  to  fear  God  and  keep  his  command¬ 
ments,  will  not  only  bring  a  man  peace  at  the  laft, 
but  will  make  him  happy  now.  And  I  will  ven¬ 
ture  to  fay,  Sir,  that  all  the  flocks,  pillories,  pri- 
fons,  and  gibbets  in  the  land,  though  fo  very 
needful  to  keep  bad  men  in  order,  yet  will  never 
reftrain  a  good  man  from  committing  evil,  half  fo 
much  as  that  fingle  text,  “  how  fhall  I  do  this 
great  wickednefs,  and  fin  againfl  God  ?”  Dr. 
Shepherd  condefcended  to  approve  of  what  the 
farmer  had  faid,  kindly  fhook  him  by  the  hand, 
and  took  leave. 

Thomas  White  had  always  been  fond  of  fing- 
ing,  but  he  had  for  many  years  defpifed  that  vile 
trafh  which  is  too  often  fung  in  a  Arable -yard.— 
One  Sunday  evening  he  heard  his  miflrefs  at  the 
Bear  read  fome  verfes  out  of  a  fine  book  called 
the  Spe&ator.  He  was  fo  flruck  with  the  pidlure 
it  contains  of  the  great  mercies  of  God,  of  which 
he  had  himfelf  partaken  fo  largely,  that  he  took 
the  liberty  to  afk  her  for  thefe  verfes,  and  fhe  be¬ 
ing  a  very  good-natured  woman,  made  her  daugh¬ 
ter  write  out  for  the  Poftilion  the  following 


Tom  White,  the  Poftilion , 


HYMN  ON  DIVINE  PROVIDENCE. 

w  hen  all  thy  mercies,  O  my  God, 

My  riling  foul  furveys, 

Tranfported  with  the  view  Tin  loft 
In  wonder,  love,  and  praife. 

O  how  lhall  words  with  equal  warmth 
The  gratitude  declare, 

Thar  glows  within  my  ravifhed  heart  ? 
But  thou  cand  read  it  there. 

Thy  Providence  my  life  fudain’d. 

And  all  my  wants  redreft, 

When  in  the  filent  womb  I  lay. 

And  hung  upon  the  bread. 

To  all  my  weak  complaints  and  cries. 
Thy  mercy  lent  an  ear, 

Ere  yet  my  feeble  thoughts  had  learnt 
To  form  themfelves  in  prayer. 

Unnumber’d  comforts  to  my  foul 
Thy  tender  care  bedow’d, 

Before  my  infant  heart  conceiv’d 
From  whom  thofe  comforts  flow’d. 

When  in  the  flippery  path  of  Youth 
With  heedlefs  deps  I  ran. 

Thine  arm,  unfeen,  convey’d  me  fafe. 
And  led  me  up  to  Man. 

\ 

Thro’  hidden  dangers,  toils,  and  deaths. 
It  gently  clear’d  my  way, 

And  thro’  the  pleafing  fnares  of  vice, 
More  to  be  fear’d  than  they. 


^6 4  Tom  White ,  the  Poftilion. 

When  worn  with  ficknefs,  oft  haft  Thou 
With  health  renew’d  my  face  ; 

And  when  in  fins  and  forrow  funk. 
Reviv’d  my  foul  with  grace. 

Thy  bounteous  hand  with  worldly  blifs 
Has  made  my  cup  run  o’er ; 

And  in  a  kind  and  faithful  friend. 

Has  doubled  all  my  ftore. 

Ten  thoufand  thoufand  precious  gifts 
My  daily  thanks  employ, 

Nor  is  the  leaf;  a  thankful  heart 
That  taftes  thofe  gifts  with  joy. 

Thro’  every  period  of  my  life 
Thy  goodnefs  I’ll  purfue, 

And  after  death,  in  diftant  worlds. 

The  glorious  theme  renew. 

When  nature  fails,  and  day  and  night 
Divide  thy  works  no  more. 

My  ever  grateful  heart,  O  Lord  ! 

Thy  mercy  fhall  adore. 

Thro’ ail  Eternity  to  Thee 
A  joyful  fong  I’ll  raife, 

For  O  !  ETERNITY’S  too  fhort 
To  utter  all  Thy  Praife. 


Tom  White ,  the  Pojiilion: 


265 


PART  II. 

THE  WAY  TO  PLENTY. 

Written  in  1795,  the  Tear  of  Scarcity. 

*  OM  WHITE,  as  we  have  fhewn  in  the  firft 
part  of  this  hiftory,  from  an  idle  poft-boy  was 
become  a  rcfpedlable  farmer.  God  had  blefled 
his  induftry,  and  he  had  profpered  in  the  world. 
He  was  fober  and  temperate,  and,  as  was  the,  na¬ 
tural  confequence,  he  was  adlive  and  healthy.— 
He  was  induftrious  and  frugal,  and  he  became 
prosperous  in  his  circumftances.  This  is  in  the 
ordinary  courfe  of  Providence.  But  it  is  not  a 
certain  and  neceffary  rule.  God  maketh  his  fun 
to Jhine  on  the  juft  and  the  unjuft .  A  man  who 
ules  every  honeft  means  of  thrift  and  induftry, 

,  will,  in  moft  cafes,  find  fuecels  attend  his  labours. 
But  ft  ill  the  race  is  not  always  to  the  ftwift ,  nor  the 
battle^  to  the  ftrong .  God  is  fometimes  pleaf- 
ed,  for  wife  ends,  to  difappoint  all  the  worldly 
hopes  of  the  moft  upright  man.  Elis  corn  may 
be  fmitteri  by  a  blight  5  his  barns  may  be  confum- 
ea  by  fire  ;  his  cattle  may  be  carried  off  by  dift 
temper.  .  And  to  thefe,  and  other  misfortunes, 
he  is  as  liable  as  the  fpendthrift  or  the  knave.— 
Succefs  is  the  common  reward  of  induftry,  but  if 
it  were  its  conftant  reward,  the  induftrious  would 
be  tempted  to  look  no  further  than  the  prefent 

N 


2 66  Tom  White ,  the  Toft ili on. 

Hate.  They  would  lofe  one  ftrong  ground  of  their 
faith.  It,  would  fet  afide  the  Scripture  fcheme. 
This  world  would  then  be  looked  on  as  a  date  of 
reward,  inftead  of  a  ftate  of  trial,  and  we  fhould 
forget  to  look  to  a  day  of  final  retribution. 

Farmer  White  never  took  it  into  his  head,  that 
becaufe  he  paid  his  debts,  worked  early  and  late, 
and  ate  the  bread  of  carefulnefs,  he  was  therefore 
to  come  into  no  misfortune  like  ether  folk ,  but  was 
to  be  free  from  the  common  trials  and  troubles  of 
life.  He  knew  that  profperity  was  far  from  being 
a  fure  mark  of  God’s  favour,  and  had  read  in 
good  books,  and  eipecially  in  the  Bible,  of  the 
great  poverty  and  afflictions  of  the  beft  of  men. 
Though  he  was  no  great  fcholar,  he  had  fenfe  enough 
to  obierve,  that  a  time  of  public  profperity  was 
not  always  a  time  of  public  virtue. ;  and  he  thought 
that  what  wras  true  of  a  whole  nation  might  be  true 
of  one  man.  So  the  more  he  profpered  the  more 
he  prayed  that  profperity  might  not  corrupt  his 
heart.  And  when  he  faw  lately  flgns  of  public 
diflrefs  coming  on,  he  was  not  half  lo  much  fright¬ 
ened  as  fome  others  were,  becaufe  he  thought  it 
might  do  us  good  in  the  long  run  ;  and  he  was  in 
hopes  that  a  little  poverty  might  bring  on  a  little 
penitence.  The  great  grace  he  laboured  after  was 
that  of  a  cheerful  fubmiflion.  He  ufed  to  fay,  that 
if  the  Lord’s  Prayer  had  only  contained  thofe  four 
little  words  Thy  will  be  done,  it  would  be  worth 
more  than  the  biggefl:  book  in  the  world  without 
them. 

Dr.  Shepherd,  the  worthy  vicar,  (with  whom 
the  farmer’s  wife  had  formerly  lived  as  houfe- 
keeper)  was  very  fond  of  taking  a  walk  with  him 


Tom  mite ,  the  P oft  Mien.  267 

about  his  grounds,  and  he  ufed  to  fay,  that  he 
learnt  as  much  from  the  farmer  as  the  farmer  did 
from  him.  If  the  dodtor  happened  to  obferve,  I 
am  afraid  thele  long  rains  will  fpoil  this  fine  piece 
of  oats,  the  farmer  would  anfwer.  But  then,  fir, 
think  how  good  it  is  for  the  grafs..  If  the  doftor 
feared  the  wheat  would  be  but  indifferent,  the 
farmer  was  fure  the  rye  would  turn  out  well.— 
W  hen  grais  failed,  he  did  not  doubt  but  turnips 
would  be  plenty.  Even  for  floods  and  inunda- 
tions  he  would  find  out  fome  way  to  juftify  Pro- 

...  ^  ^  ^  5  to  have  our  lands  a 

little  overflowed,  than  that  the  fprings  fhould  be 
dried  up,  and  our  cattle  faint  for  lack  of  water. 
When  the  drought  came,  he  thanked  God  that 
the  feafon  would  be  healthy  5  and  high  winds, 
which  frightened  others,  he  faid  ferved  to  clear 
the  air.  Whoever,  or  whatever  was  wrong,  he 
was  always  fure  that  Providence  was  in  the  right. 
And  he  ufed  to  fay  that  a  man,  with  ever  fo  fmall 
an  income,  if  he  had  but  frugality  and  temperance, 
and  cut  off  all  vain  defires,  and  caff  his  care  upon 
God,  was  richer  than  a  lord  who  was  tormented 
by  vanity  and  covetoufnefs.  WThen  he  faw  others 
in  the  wrong,  he  did  not,  however,  abufe  them 
for  it,  but  took  care  to  avoid  the  fame  fault.  He 
had  fenfe  and  fpirit  enough  to  break  through 
many  old,  but  very  bad  cuftoms  of  his  neighbours. 
If  a  thing  is  wrong  in  itfelf,  (faid  he  one  day  to 
farmer  Hodges)  a  whole  parifh  doing  it  can’t 
make  it  right.  And  as  to  it's  being  an  old  cuf~ 
tom,  why,  if  it  be  a  good  one  I  like  it  the  better 
for  being  old,  becaufe  it  has  had  the  ftamp  of  ag<  s. 


268  Tom  JFhite>  the  Poftilion . 

and  the  fantlion  of  experience  on  it’s  worth.  But 
if  it  be  old  as  well  as  bad,  that  is  another  reafon 
for  my  trying  to  put  an  end  to  it,  that  we  may  not 
miftead  our  children  as  our  fathers  have  milled  us. 


THE  ROOF-RAISING. 

Some  years  after  he  was  fettled,  he  built  a  large 
new  barn.  All  the  workmen  were  looking  for¬ 
ward  to  the  ufual  holiday  of  roof-raifing.  On 
this  occafion  it  is  a  cuftom  to  give  a  dinner  to  the 
workmen,  with  fo  much  liquor  after  it  that  they 
got  fo  drunk,  that  they  not  only  loft  the  remain¬ 
ing  half-day’s  work,  but  they  were  not  always  able 
to  work  the  following  day. 

Mrs.  White  provided  a  plentiful  dinner  for  roof- 
raifing,  and  gave  each  man  his  mug  of  beer. — 
After  a  hearty  meal  thev  began  to  grow  clamo- 
rous  for  more  drink.  The  farmer  faid,  *My  lads, 
I  don’t  grudge  you  a  few  gallons  of  ale  merely  for 
the  fake  of  laving  my  liquor,  though  that  is  fome 
confideration,  efpecially  in  thefe  dear  times,  but  I 
never  will,  knowingly,  help  any  man  to  make  a 
beaft  of  himfelf.  •  X  am  refolved  to  break  through 
a  bad  cuftom.  You  are  now  well  refrefhed.  If 
you  will  go  cheerfully  to  your  work,  you  will  have 
half  a  day’s  pay  to  take  on  Saturday  night  more 
than  you  would  if  this  afternoon  were  wafted  in 
drupkennefs.  For  this  your  families  will  be  the 
better  :  whereas,  were  I  to  give  you  more  liquor, 
when  you  have  already  had  enough,  I  fhould  help 
to  rob  them  of  their  bread.  But  I  wilh  to  Ihew 
you,  that  I  have  your  good  at  heart  full  as  much 


Tom  White,  the  Pqftilion, 


t6'9 


as  my  own  own  pro  fit.  If  you  will  now  go  to  ’work, 
l  will  give  you  all  another  mug  at  night  when  you 
leave  off.  Thus  your  time  will  be  laved,  your 
families  helped,  and  my  ale  will  not  go  to  make 
reafonable  creatures  worfe  than  brute  beads. 

Here  he  flopped.  You  are  in  the  right  on't. 
Mailer,  laid  Tom  the  Thatcher  ;  you  are  a  hearty 
man,  Farmer,  faid  John  Plane/ the  carpenter; 
come  along  boys,  laid  Tim  Brick  the  malon  5  fo 
they  all  went  merrily  to  work,  fortified  with  a  good 
dinner.  There  was  only  one  drunken  furly  fellow 
that  refufed,  who  was  Dick  Guzzle  the  fmith.— 
Dick  never  works  above  two  or  three  days  in  a 
week,  and  fpends  the  others  at  the  Red  Lion,- 
He  fwore,  that  if  the  farmer  did  not  leave  him 


D,  £ 


much  liquor  as  he  liked  at  roof  raifing,  he  would 
not  ftrike  another  ftroke,  but  would  leave  the 
job  unfinifhfd,  and  he  might  get  hands  where  he 
could..  Farmer  White  took  him  at  his  word,  and 
paid  him  offdireftly:  glad  enough  to  get  rid  of 
Inch  a  fot,  whom  he  had  only  employed  from  pity 
to  a  large  and  almoft  flarving  family.  When  the 
men  came  for  their  mug  in  the  evening,  the  far¬ 
mer  brought  out  the  remains  of  the  cold  gammon  $ 
they  made  a  hearty  flipper,  and  thanked  him  for 
having  broke  through  a  foolifh  cuflorn,  which 
was  afterwards  much  left  off  in  that  parilh,  though 
Dick  would  not  come  into  it,  and  loll  moll  of  his 
work  in  confequence. 

Farmer  White’s  labourers  were  often  com¬ 
plaining,  that  things  were  fo  dear  that  they  could 
not  buy  a  bit  of  meat.  He  knew  it  was  partly 
true,  but  not  intirely,  for  it  was  before  thefe  very 
'  N3 


a  70  Tom  White ,  the  P  oft  Hi  on. 

hard  times  that  their  complaints  began.  One 
morning  he  kept  out  to  fee  how  an  outhoufe 
which  he  was  thatching  went  on.  He  was  fur- 
prized  to  find  the  work  at  a  fkmd.  He  walked 
over  to  the  thatcher’s  houfe.  Tom,  faid  he,  I 
defire  that  piece  of  work  may  be  finifhed  direclly. 
If  a  fhower  comes  my  grain  will  be  fpoiled.  In¬ 
deed,  maker,  I  (han’t  work  to-day,  nor  to-mor¬ 
row  neither,  faid  Tom.  You  forget  that  ’tis 
Taker  Monday,  and  to-morrow  is  Taker  Tuef- 
day.  And  fo  on  Wednesday  I  (hall  thatch  away, 
maker.  But  ’tis  hard  if  a  poor  man,  who  works 
all  the  year,  may  not  enjoy  thefe  few  holidays, 
which  come  but  once  a  year. 

Tom,  (aid  the  farmer,  when  thefe  days  were 
firft  put  into  our  prayer-book,  the  good  men  who 
ordained  them  to  be  kept,  little  thought  that  the 
time  would  come  when  holy-day  fhould  mean 
drunken ■  day.  How  much  dok  think  now  I  fhall 
pay  thee  for  this  piece  of  thatch  ?  Why  you  know, 
maker,  you  have  let  it  to  me  by  the  great.  I 
think  between  this  and  to-morrow  night,  as  the 
weather  is  fo  fine,  I  could  clear  about  four  (hil¬ 
lings.,  after  I  have  paid  my  boy ;  but  thatching 
does  not  come  often,  and  other  work  is  not  fo 
profitable.  Very  well,  Tom;  and  how  much 
now  do  you  think  you  may  fpend  in  thefe  two 
holidays  ?  Why,  maker,  if  the  ale  is  pleafant  and 
the  company  merry,  I  do  not  expe£l  to  get  off 
for  Lels  than  three  kiillings.  Tom,  can  you  do 
pounds,  (hillings,  and  pence  ?  I  can  make  a  little 
icore,  maker,  behind  the  kitchen  door,  with  a 
bit  of  chalk,  which  is  as  much  as  I  want.  Well, 
Tom,  add  the  four  (hillings  you  would  have 


Tom  White ,  the  PcJUUon.  271 

earned  to  the  three  you  intend  to  fpend,  what  does 
that  make  ?  Let  me  fee  !  three  and  four  make 
(even,  Seven  •  (hillings,  maker.  Tom,  you 
often  tell  me  the  times  are  fo  bad,  that  vou  can 

_  j  *  j 

never  buy  a  bit  of  meat.  Now  here  is  the  coft 
of  two  joints  at  once ;  to  lay  nothing  of  the  fin 
of  wafting  time  and  getting  drunk.  I  never  once 
thought  of  that,  faid  Tom.  Now  Tom,  laid  the 
farmer,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  ftep  over  to  but¬ 
cher  J  obbins’s,  buy  a  (boulder  of  mutton,  which 
being  left  from  Saturday's  market  you  will  get  a 
little  cheaper.  This  I  would  make  my  wife  bake 
in  a  deep  difh  full  of  potatoes.  I  would  then  go 
to  work,  and  when  the  dinner  was  ready  1  would 
go  and  enjoy  it  with  my  wife  and  children;  you 
need  not  give  the  mutton  to  the  brats ;  the  pota¬ 
toes  will  have  all  the  gravy,  and  be  very  favor/ 
for  them.  Aye,  but  Fve  got  no  beer,  mafter  ;  the 
times  are  fo  hard  that  a  poor  man  can't  afford  to 
brew  a  drop  of  drink  now  as  we  ufed  to  do. 

Times  are  bad,  and  malt  is  very  dear,  Tom, 
and  yet  both  don’t  prevent  you  from  fpending 
feven  (hillings  in  keeping  holiday.  Now  fend 
for  a  quart  of  ale  as  it  is  to  be  a  feaft ;  and  you 
will  even  then  be  tour  fnillings  richer  than  if  you 
had  gone  to  the  publick  houfe.  I  would  have 
you  put  by  thefe  four  (hillings,  till  I  could  add  a 
couple  to  them  ;  with  this  I  would  get  a  bulhel  of 
malt,  and  my  wife  (hould  brew  it,  and  you  may 
take  a  pint  of  your  own  beer  at  home  of  a  night, 
which  will  do  you  more  good  than  a  gallon  at  the 
Red  Lion.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  take  your  ad¬ 
vice,  mafter,  but  I  (hall  be  made  fuch  fun  of  at 

N4 


27  2  Tom  White >  the  Voftilion , 

the  Lion !  they  will  fo  laugh  at  me  if  I  don’t  <zo  ! 
Let  thofe  laugh  that  win,  Tom.  But,  mailer,  1 
have  got  a  friend  to  meet  me  there.  Then  afk 
your  friend  to  come  and  eat  a  hit  of  your  cold 
mutton  at  night,  and  here  is  fix-pence  for  another 
pot,  if  you  wilkpromife  to  brew  a  final!  cafk  of 
your  own.  Thank  you,  mailer,  and  fo  I  will; 
and  I  won’t  go  to  the  Lion.  Come,  boy,  bring 
the  helm,  and  fetch  the  ladder.  And  fo  Tom 
was  upon  the  roof  in  a  twinkling. 

'THE  SHEEP  SHEARING. 

Dr.  Shepherd  happened  to  fay  to  Farmer 
White  one  day,  that  there  was  nothing  he  dif- 
liked  more  than  the  manner  in  which  fheep- 
fhearing  and  harveft-home  were  kept  by  feme  in 
his  pari  ih.— What,  (aid  the  good  Dodor,  juft 
when  we  are  bleft  with  a  prosperous  gathering  in 
of  thefe  natural  riches  of  our  land,  the  fleece  of 
our  flocks  ;  when  our  barns  are  crowned  with 
plenty,  and  we  have,  through  the  divine  bleffing 

reaped  the  fruits  of  the 
earth  in  due  feafon  j  is  that  very  time  to  be  fet 
apart  for  ribaldry,  and  riot,  and  drunkennefs  ?  Do 
we  thank  God  for  his  mercies,  by  making  our- 
felves  unworthy  and  unfit  to  enjoy  them  ?  When 
he  crowns  the  year  with  his  goodnefs,  fnall  we 
affront  him  by  our  impiety  ? 

I  thank  you  for  the  hint,  fir,  Laid  the  farmer, 

I  am  refolved  to  rejoice  though,  and  others  fhall 
rejoice  with  me :  and  we  will  have  a  merry  night 
cn’t. 

So  Mrs.  White  drefled  a  very  plentiful  iupper 


Tom  White,  the  PoJHUon.  273 

% 

of  meat  and  pudding  ;  and  fpread  out  two  tables. 
The  farmer  fat  at  the  head  of  one,  confifting  of 
fome  of  his  neighbours,  and  all  his  work-people. 
At  the  other  fat  his  wife,  with  two  long  benches 
on  each  fide  of  her.  On  thefe  fat  all  the  old  and 
infirm  poor,  efpecially  thofe  who  lived  in  the 
workhoufe,  and  had  no  day  of  feftivity  to  look 
forward  to  .in  the  whole  year  but  this.  On  the 
grafs,  in  the  little  court,  fat  the  children  of  his  la¬ 
bourers,  and  of  the  other  poor,  whofe  employ¬ 
ment  it  had  been  to  gather  flowers,  and  drefs  and 
adorn  the  horns  of  the  ram ;  for  the  farmer  did 
not  wifh  to  put  an  end  to  any  old  cuftom,  if  it 
was  innocent.  His  own  children  flood  by  the 
table,  and  he  gave  them  plenty  of  pudding,  which 
they  carried  to  the  children  of  the  poor,  with  a 
little  draught  of  cider  to  every  one.  The  farmer, 
who  never  fat  down  without  begging  a  blerfing  on 
his  meal,  did  it  with  fuitable  folemnity  on  the 
prefent  joyful  oceafion, 

1  his  feafl,  though  orderly  and  decent,  was  yet 
hearty  and  chearful.  Dr.  Shepherd  dropped  in 
with  a  good  deal  of  company  he  had  at  his  houfe, 
and  they  were  much  pleafed.  When  the  dodtor 
law  how  the  aged  and  the  infirm  poor  w7ere  en¬ 
joying  themfelves,  he  was  much  moved  ;  he  fhook 
the  farmer  by  the  hand,  and  faid,  c(  But  thou, 
when  thou  makefl  a  feafl,  call  the  blind,  and  the 
lame,  and  the  halt ;  they  cannot  recompenfe  thee, 
but  thou  fhalt  be  recompenfed  at  the  refurredtion 
of  the  juft.” 

Sir,  faid  the  farmer,  *tis  no  great  matter  of  ex¬ 
pence  $  I  kill  a  flieep  of  my  own;  potatoes  are  as 

N  5* 


274  Tom  White,  the  V  oft  Mon. 

plenty  as  blackberries,  with  people  who  have  a 
little  forethought.  I  lave  much  more  cider  in  the 
.courfe  of  a  year  by  never  allowing  any  caroufing 
in  my  kitchen,  or  drunkennefs  in  my  fields,  than 
would  fupply  many  fuch  feafts  as  thefe,  fo  that  I 
(hall  be  never  the  poorer  at  Chriftmas.  It  is 
cheaper  to  make  people  happy,  fir,  than  to  make 
them  drunk.  The  dodlor  and  the  ladies  conde- 
fcended  to  walk  from  one  table  to  the  other,  and 
heard  many  merry  (lories,  but  not  one  profane 
word,  or  one  indecent  long ;  fo  that  he  was  not 
forced  to  the  painful  necelfity  either  of  reproving 
them,  or  leaving  them  in  anger.  When  all  was 
over,  they  lung  the  fixty-fifth  Pfalm,  and  the  la- 
dies  all  joined  in  it ;  and  when  they  got  home  to 
the  vicarage  to  tea,  they  declared  they  liked  it 
better  than  any  concert. 

THE  HARD  WINTER. 

In  the  famous  cold  winter  of  the  prefent  year 
1795,  it  was  edifying  to  fee  how  patiently  farmer 
White  bore  that  long  and  fevere  frofl.  Many  of 
his  iheep  were  frozen  to  death,  but  he  thanked 
God  that  he  had  dill  many  left.  He  continued  to 
find  in-door  wrork  that  his  men  might  not  be  out 
of  employ.  The  feafon  being  fo  bad,  which  fome 
others  pleaded  as  an  excufe  for  turning  off  their 
workmen,  he  thought  a  frefh  reafon  for  keeping 
them.  Mrs.  White  was  fo  confiderate,  that  juft 
at  that  time  (he  leffened  the  number  of  her  hogs*, 
that  (he  might  have  more  whey  and  fkim-milk  to. 
afftftpoor  families.  Nay,  I  have  known  her  live 
on  boiled  meat  for  a  long  while  together,  in  a 


Tom  If  bite,  the  Tofilllon.  17  $ 

fickly  feafon,  becaufc  the  pot-liquor  made  fuch  a 
fupply  of  broth  for  the  Tick  poor.  As  the  fpring 
came  on,  and  things  grew  worfe,  Hie  never  had  a 
cake,  a  pye,  or  a  pudding  in  her  houfe ;  notwith- 
Handing  fhe  ufed  to  have  plenty  of  thefe  good 
things,  and  will  again,  I  hope,  when  the  prefent 
fcarcity  is  over;  though  {he  fays  fhe  never  will 
ufe  fuch  white  flour  again,  even  if  it  fhould  come 
down  to  five  {hillings  a  bufhel. 

All  the  parifh  now  began  to  murmur.  Farmer 
Jones  was  fure  the  froft  had  killed  the  wheat. 
Farmer  W'ilfon  faid  the  rye  would  never  come 
up.  Brown,  the  maltfter,  infilled  the  barley  was 
dead  at  the  root.  Butcher  Tobbins  faid  beef 
would  be  a  {hilling  a  pound.  All  declared  there 
would  not  be  a  hop  to  brew  with.  The  orchards 
were  all  blighted ;  there  would  not  be  apples 
enough  to  make  a  pye  ;  and  as  to  hay  there  would 
be  none  to  be  had  for  love  nor  money. — I’ll  tell 
you  what,  faid  farmer  White,  the  feafon  is  dread- 
ful;  the  crops  are  unpromifing  juft  now;  but  'tis 
too  early  to  judge.  Don’t  let  us  make  things 
worfe  than  they  are.  We  ought  to  comfort  the 
poor,  and  you  are  driving  them  to  defpair.  Don’t 
you  know  how  much  God  was  difpleafed  with  the 
murmurs  of  his  chofen  people?  And  yet,  when 
they  were  tired  of  manna  he  fent  them  quails;  but 
all  did  not  do.  Nothing  fatisfies  grumblers.  We 
have  a  promife  on  our  fide,  that  t(  there  fhall  be 
feed-time  and  harveft-time  to  the  end.”  Let  us 
then  hope  for  a  good  day,  but  provide  againft  an 
evil  one.  Let  us  rather  prevent  the  evil  before 

N  6 


276  Tom  White ,  the  PcjUlion. 

k  is  come  upon  us.,  than  fink  under  it  when  it 
conies.  Grumbling  cannot  help  us ;  activity  can. 
Let  us  fet  about  planting  potatoes  in  every  nook 
and  corner,  in  cafe  the  corn  fhould  fail,  which, 
however,  I  don’t  believe  will  be  the  cafe.  Let  us 
rnend  our  management  before  we  are  driven  to  it 
by  adlual  want.  And  if  we  allow  our  honeft  la¬ 
bourers  to  plant  a  few  potatoes  for  their  families 
in  the  head-lands  of  our  ploughed  fields,  or  other 
wafte  bits  of  ground,  it  will  do  us  no  harm,  and 
be  a  great  help  to  them.  The  way  to  lighten  the 
load  of  any  public  calamity  is  not  to  murmur  at  it, 
but  put  a  hand  to  leffenit. 

The  farmer  had  many  temptations  to  fend  his 
corn  at  an  extravagant  price  to  a  certain  fe apart 
town ,  but  as  he  knew  that  it  was  intended  to  ex¬ 
port  it  againft  law,  he  would  not  be  tempted  to 
encourage  unlawful  gain  ;  fo  he  threfhed  out  a 
fmall  mow  at  a  time,  and  fold  it  to  the  neigh¬ 
bouring  poor  far  below  the  market  price.  -He 
ferved  his  own  workmen  fir  ft.  This  was  the 
fame  to  them  as  if  he  had  railed  their  wages,  and 
even  better,  as  it  was  a  benefit  of  which  their  fa¬ 
milies  were  lure  to  partake.  If  the  poor  in  the 
next  parifh  were  more  diftreffed  than  his  own,  he 
fold  to  them  at  the  fame  rate.  For,  faid  he, 
there  is  no  diftindtion  of  parifhes  in  heaven,  and 
though  charity  begins  at  home,  yet  it  ought  not 
to  end  there. 

He'  had  been  ufed  in  good  times  now  and  then 
to  catch  a  hare  or  a  partridge,  as  he  was  qualified  j 
but  he  now  refolved  to  give  up  that  pleafure.  So 
he  parted  from  a  couple  of  fpaniels  he  had;  for 


Tom  White ,  the  Vo  ft  Hi  on.  ajj 

he  laid  he  could  not  bear  that  his  dogs  fhould  be 
eating  the  meat,  or  the  milk,  which  fo  many 
men,  women,  and  children  wanted. 


THE  WHITE  LOAF. 

One  day,  it  was  about  the  middle  of  laft  July, 
when  things  feemed  to  be  at  the  dearefl,  and  the 
Rulers  of  the  land  had  agreed  to  fet  the  example 
of  eating  nothing  but  coarfe  bread,  Dr.  Shepherd 
read,  before  fermon  in  the  church,  their  public 
declaration,  which  the  magiftrates  of  the  county 
fent  him,  and  which  they  had  alfo  figned  them- 
fejves.  Mrs.  White,  of  courfe,  was  at  church, 
and  commended  it  mightily.  Next  morning  the 
Do&or  took  a  walk  over  to  the  farmer’s,  in  order 
to  fettle  further  plans  for  the  relief  of  the  parifh. 
He  was  much  furprized  to  meet  Mrs.  White’s 
little  maid  Sally  with  a  very  fmall  white  loaf, 
which  fhe  had  been  buying  at  a  fhop.  He  faid 
nothing  to  the  girl,  as  he  never  thought  it  right  to 
expofe  the  faults  of  a  miftrefs  to  herfervant ;  'but 
walked  on,  refolving  to  give  Mrs.  White  a  fevere 
ledture  for  the  firit  time  in  his  life.  He  foon 
changed  his  mind,  for  on  going  into  the  kitchen, 
the  fdrfb  perfon  he  faw  was  Tom  the  thatcher,  who 
had  had  a  fad  fall  from  a  ladder  ;  his  arm,  which 
was  flipped  out  of  his  fleeve,  was  fwelled  in  a 
frightful  manner.  Mrs.  White  was  ftanding  at 
the  dreffer  making  the  little  white  loaf  into  a 
poultice,  which  fhe  laid  upon  the  fwelling  in  a 
large  clean  old  linen  cloth. 

I  afk  your  pardon,  my  good  Sarah,  faid  the 

6 


27  8  Tom  White  >  the  Toftilion, 

Dodtor ;  I  ought  not,  however  appearances  were 
again fl:  you,  to  have  fufpedted  that  fo  humble  and 
prudent  a  woman  as  you  are,  would  be  led  either 
to  indulge  any  daintinefs  of  your  own,  or  to  fly  in 
the  face  of  your  betters,  by  eating  white  bread 
while  they  are  eating  brown.  Whenever  I  come 
here,  I  fee  it  is  not  needful  to  be  rich  in  order  to 
be  charitable.  A  bountiful  rich  man  would  have 
fentTom  to  a  furgeon,  who  would  have  done  no 
more  for  him  than  you  have  done ;  for  in  thofe 
inflammations  the  moft  fkilful  furgeon  could  only 
apply  a  poultice.  Your  kindnefs  in  drefling  the 
wound  yourfelf,  will,  I  doubt  not,  perform  the 
cure  at  the  expence  of  that  three-penny  loaf  and 
a  little  hoff’s  lard.  And  I  will  take  care  that  Tom 

S-J  ___ 

fhali  have  a  good  fupply  of  rice  from  the  fub- 
fcription. — And  he  fhan’t  want  for  fkim-milk, 
faid  Mrs.  White  ;  and  was  he  the  bed  lord  in  the 
land,  in  the  date  he  is  in,  a  difh  of  good  rice  milk 
would  be  better  for  him  than  the  riched  meat. 


THE  PARISH  MEETING. 

On  the  tenth  of  Augud,  the  vedry  held  ano¬ 
ther  meeting,  to  confuit  on  the  bed  method  of 
further  afliftingthe  poor.'  The  profpedt  of  abun¬ 
dant  crops  now  cheared  every  heart.  Farmer 
White,  who  had  a  mind  to  be  a  little  jocular  with 
his  defponding  neighbours, .  faid,  Well,  neighbour 
Jones,  all  the  wheat  was  killed,  I  fuppofe ;  the 
barley  is  all  dead  at  the  root. — Farmer  Jones 
looked  fheepifh,  and  faid,  to  be  fure  the  crops 
had  turned  out  better  than  he  thought, — Them, 


Tom  White ,  the  Toft  Hi  on.  279 

faid  Dr.  Shepherd,  let  us  learn  to  trull  Providence 
another  time  ;  let  our  experience  of  his  pall  good- 
nefs  lire ngthen  our  faith. 

Among  other  things  they  agreed  to  fubfcribe 
for  a  large  quantity  of  rice,  which  was  to  be  fold 
out  to  the  poor  at  a  very  low  price,  and  Mrs. 
White  was  fo  kind  as  to  undertake  the  trouble  of 
felling  it.  After  their  day’s  work  was  over,  all 
who  wifhed  to  buy  at  thefe  reduced  rates,  were 
ordered  to  come  to  the  farm  on  the  Tuefday  even¬ 
ing.  Dr.  Shepherd  dropped  in  at  the  fame  time, 
and  when  Mrs.  White  had  done  weighing  her  rice, 
the  dodfcor  fpoke  as  follows  : 

My  honeft  friends,  it  has  pleafed  God  for  fome 
wife  end,  to  vifit  this  land  with  a  fcarcity,  to  which 
we  have  been  but  little  accuflomed.  There  are 
fome  idle  evil-minded  people,  who  are  on  the 
watch  for  public  diflrelfes ;  not  that  they  may 
humble  themfelves  under  the  mighty  hand  of 
God  (which  is  the  true  ufe  to  be  made  of  all 
troubles),  but  that  they  may  benefit  themfelves 
by  diliurbing  the  public  peace.  Thefe  people, 
by  riot  and  drunkennefs,  double  the  evil  which 
they  pretend  to  cure.  Riot  will  complete  our 
misfortunes,  while  peace,  induftry,  and  good  ma¬ 
nagement,  will  go  near  to  cure  them.  Bread,  to 
be  fure,  is- uncommonly  dear.  Among  the  vari¬ 
ous  ways  of  making  it  cheaper,  one  is  to  reduce 
the  quality  of  it,  another  to  leffen  the  quantity  we 
confume.  If  we  cannot  get  enough  of  coarfe 
wheaten  bread,  let'  us  make  it  of  other  grain. 
Or  let  us  mix  one  half  of  potatoes,  and  one  half 
o£  wheat.  This  laft  is  what  I  eat  in  my  own  fa¬ 
mily  j .  it  is  pleafant  and  wholefome.  Our  blelfed 


Tom  White ,  the  Poftilion . 

Saviour  ate  barley  bread.,  you  know,  as  we  are  told 
in  the  lad  month’s  Sunday  Reading  of  the  Cheap 
Repository*,  which  I  hope  you  have  ail  heard ; 
as  I  defired  the  mader  of  the  Sunday-fchool  to 
read  it  juft  after  evening-fervice,  when  I  know 
many  of  the  parents  are  apt  to  call  in  at  the 
fcnool.  This  is  a  good  cuftom,  and  one  of  thofe 
little  books  lhall  be  often  read  at  that  time. 

.  good  women,  I  truly  feel  for  you  at  this 
time  of  icarcity  ;  and  I  am  going  to  {hew  my 
good-will,  as  much  by  my  advice  as  my  fubfcrip- 
tion.  It  is  my  duty,  as  your  friend  and  minider, 
to  tell  you,  that  one  half  of  your  prefent  hardfhips 
is  owing  to  bad  management.  I  often  meet 
your  children  without  {hoes  and  dockings,  with 
great  luncheons  of  .the  very  whited  bread,  and 
that  three  times  a  day.  Half  that  quantity,  and 
dill  lefs  if  it  were  coarfe,  put  into  a  diih  of  good 
onion  or  leek  porridge,  would  make  them  an  ex- 
'  cellent  breakrad.  Many  too,  of  the  very  poored 
of  you,  eat  your  bread  hot  from  the  oven  this 
makes  the  difference  of  one  loaf  in  five  ;  I  adure 
you  dis  what  I  cannot  afford  to  do.  Come,  Mrs. 
White,  you  mud  affid  me  a  little.  I  am  not  very 
knowing  in  thefe  matters  myfelf ;  but  I  know 
that  the  rich  would  be  twice  as  charitable  as  they 
are,  if  the  poor  made  a  better  ufe  of  their  bounty. 
Mrs.  White,  do  give  thefe  poor  women  a  little 
advice  how  to  make  their  pittance  go  further  than 
it  now  does.  When  you  lived  with  me,  you 
were  famous  for  making  us  nice  cheap  difhes# 

*  See  Cheap  Repertory,-  Traft  on  the  Scarcity,  printed 
for  T.  Evans,  Long-Lane,  Weft  Smithfiold,  London, 


Tom  White,  the  Poftilion.  281 

and  I  dare  fay  you  are  not  lefs  notable  now  you 
manage  for  yourfelf. 

Indeed,. neighbours,  faid  Mrs.  White,  what  the 
good  do 61  or  fays  is  very  true.  A  halfpenny  worth 
of  oatmeal,  or  groats,  with  a  leek  or  onion,  out. 
of  your  own  garden,  which  cods  nothing,  a  bit  of 
fait,  and  a  little  coarfe  bread,  will  breakfafl  your 
whole  family.  It  is  a  great  miftake  at  any  time 
to  think  a  bit  of  meat  is  fo  ruinous,  and  a  great 
load  of  bread  fo  cheap.  A  poor  man  gets  feven 
or  eight  fhillings  a  week  >  if  he  is  careful  he 
■  brings  it  home.  I  dare  not  fay  how  much  of  this 
goes  for  tea  in  the  afternoon,  now  fjgar  and  but¬ 
ter  are  fo  dear,  bccaufe  I  fhould  have  you  all 
upon  me  ;  but  I  will  fay,  that  too  much  of  this 
little  goes  even  for  bread,  from  a  miftaken  notion 
that  it  is  the  harddl  fare.  This,  at  all  times,  but 
particularly  juft  now,  is  bad  management.  Dry 
peas,  to  be  lure,  have  been  very  dear  lately  ;  but 
now  they  are  plenty  enough.  I  am  certain  then, 
that  if  a  fhilltng  or  two  of  the  feven  or  eight  was 
laid  out  fora  bit  of  coarfe  beef,  a  fheep’s  head,  or 
any  fuch  thing,  it  would  be  well  bellowed.  I 
would  throw1  a  couple  of  pound  of  this  into  the 
pot,  with  two  or  three  handfuls  of  grey  peas,  an 
onion,  and  a  little  pepper.  Then  I  would  throw 
in  cabbage  or  turnip,  and  carrot ;  or  any  garden 
fluff  that  was  m oft  plenty ;  let  it  flew  two  or  three 
hours,  and  it  will  make  a  difh  fit  for  his  Majcfty. 
The  working  men  fhould  have  the  meat  5  the 
children  don’t  want  it ;  the  foup  will  be  thick  and 
fubftantial,  and  requires  no  bread. 


2.82 


lorn  Whitt ,  the  Pc /l  Hi  on. 


RICE  MILK. 

.i  , 

i  ou  who  can  get  fkim-milk,  as  all  our  work¬ 
men  can,  have  a  great  advantage.  A  quart  of 
this,  and  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  the  rice  you  have 
juli  bought,  a  little  bit  of  all-fpice,  and  brown 
fugar,  will  make  a  dainty  and  cheap  difh. 

Bids  your  heart  1  muttered  Amy  Grumble, 
who  looked  as  dirty  as  a  cinder- wench,  with  her 
face  and  fingers  all  daubed  with  fnuff ;  rice  milk, 
indeed  1  it  is  very  nice  to  be  fure  for  thofe  who 
can  drefs  it,  but  We  have  not  bit  of  coal ;  rice 
is  of  no  ufe  to  us  without  firing  ;  and  yet,  laid  the 
Debtor,  I  fee  your  tea-kettle  boiling  twice  every 
day,  as  I  pafs  by  the  poor-houfe,  and  frefh  butter 
at  eleven-pence  a  pound  on  your  fhelf.  O  dear, 
fir,  cried  Amy,  a  few  flicks  ferve  to  boil  the  tea¬ 
kettle.  And  a  few  more,  laid  the  Dobtor,  will 
boil  the  rice  milk,  and  give  twice  the  nourifhment 
at  a  quarter  of  the  expence. 

RICE  PUDDING. 

Pray,  Sarah ,  Paid  the  Debtor,  how  did  you  ufe 
to  make  that  pudding  my  children  were  lo  fond 
of?  And  I  remember,  when  it  was  cold,  we  ufed 
to  have  it  in  the  parlour  for  fupper.  Nothing 
more  eafy,  Paid  Mrs.  White.  I  put  half  a  pound 
of  rice,  two  quarts  of  ikim  milk,  and  two  ounces 
of  brown  fugar.  Well,  faid  the  Dobtor,  and 
how  many  will  this  dine  ?  Seven  or  eight,  fir. 
Very  well,  and  what  will  it  coft  ?  Why,  fir,  it  did 
not  coll  you  fo  much,  becaufe  we  baked  it  at 


Tom  White,  the  P  oft  Hi  on.  283 

home  ;  and  I  ufed  our  own  milk  :  but  it  will  not 
coil  above  feven-pence  to  thofe  who  pay  for  both. 
Here,  too,  bread  is  faved. 

Fray,  Sarah,  let  me  put  in  a  word,  faid  farmer 
White.  I  advife  my  men  to  raife  each  a  large 
bed  of  parfnips.  They  are  very  nourifhing,  and 
very  profitable.  Six-penny  worth  of  feed,  well 
fowed,  and  trod  in,  will  produce  more  meals  than 
four  lacks  of  potatoes ;  and  what  is  material  to 
you  who  have  fo  little  ground,  it  will  not  require 
more  than  an  eighth  part  of  the  ground  which 
the  four  facks  will  take.  Parfnips  are  very  good 
the  fecond  day  warmed  in  the  frying-pan,  and  a 
little  rafher  of  pork,  or  bacon,  will  give  them  a 
nice  flavour. 

Dr.  Shepherd  now  faid,  As  a  proof  of  the  nou¬ 
rifhing  quality  of  parfnips,  I  was  reading  in  a 
hiflory  book  this  very  clay,  that  the  American 
Indians  make  a  great  part  of  their  bread  of  parf¬ 
nips,  though  Indian  corn  is  fo  famous :  it  will 
make  a  little  variety  too. 

A  CHEAP  STEW. 

I  remember,  faid  Mrs.  White,  a  cheap  difh* 
fo  nice  that  it  makes  my  mouth  water.  I  peel 
fome  raw  potatoes,  (lice  them  thin,  put  the  flices 
into  a  deep  frying-pan,  or  pot,  with  a  little  wa¬ 
ter,  an  onion,  and  a  bit  of  pepper.  Then  I  get 
a  bone  or  two  of  a  bread  of  mutton,  or  a  little 
drip  of  fait  pork,  and  put  it  into  it.  Cover  it 
down  clofe,  keep  in  the  deam,  and  let  it  dew  for 
an  hour. 

You  really  get  me  an  appetite,  Mrs.  White,  by 


•284  Tom  While ,  //^  Poftilion, . 

your  dainty  receipts,  (aid  the  Doctor.  I  am 
refolved  to  have  this  diih  at  my  own  table.  I 
,  could  tell  you  another  very  good  dilh,  and  ft  ill 
cheaper,  anlwercd  fhc.  Come,  let  us  have  it, 
cried  the  Do&or.  I  fh all  write  all  down  as  foon 
as  I  get  home,  and  I  will  favour  any  body  with  a 
copy  of  thefe  receipts  who  will  call  at  my  houfe. 
And  I  will  do  more,  Sir,  laid  Mrs.  White,  for  I 
will  put  any  of  thefe  women  in  the  way  how 
to.drefs  it  the  firft  time,  if  they  are  at  a  lofs.  But 
this  is  my  diffi. 

Take  two  or  three  pickled  herrings,  put  them 
into  a  (tone  jar,  fill  it  up  with  potatoes,  and  a 
little  water,  and  let  it  bake  in  the  oven  till  it  is 
done-.  I  would  give  one  hint  more,  added  flic  ; 
X  have  taken  to  ufe  nothing  but  potatoe  (larch  ; 
and  though  1  fay  it,  that  fhoukl  not  iky  it,  no¬ 
body's  linen  in  a  common  way  looks  better  than 
curs. 

The  D  obi  or  now  laid,  I  am  forry  for  one  hard- 
fhip  which  many  poor  people  labour  under,  X 
mean  the  difficulty  of  getting  a  little  milk.  I 
wifh  all  farmers’  wives  were  as  confiderate  as  you 
are,  Mrs.  White.  A  little  milk  is  a  great  comfort 
to  the  poor,  efpecially  when  their  children  are 
lick;  and  I  have  known  it  anfwer  to  the  feller  as 
well  as  to  the  buyer,  to  keep  a  cow  or  two  on 
purpofe  to  fell  it  out  by  the  quart,  inftead  of 
making  butter  and  cheeie. 

Sir,  faid  farmer  White,  I  beg  leave  to  fay  a 
word  to  the  men,  if  you  pleafe,  for  all  your  ad¬ 
vice  goes  to  the  women.  If  you  will  drink  lefs 
gin,  you  may  get  more  meat.  If  you  abftain 
from  the  ale-houfe,  you  may  many  of  you,  get  a 


Tom  White,  the  Poflilion.  285 

little  one-way  beer  at  home.  Aye,  that  we  can, 
farmer,  laid  poor  Tom,  the  Thatcher,  who  was 
now  got  well.  Eafter  Monday  for  that— I  fay 
no  tnore.  A  word  to  the  wile.  The  farmer 
frniled,  and  went  on.  The  number  of  public 
houfes  in  many  a  parifh  brings  on  more  hunger 
and  rags  than  all  the  taxes  in  it,  heavy  as  they 
are.  All  the  other  evils  put  together  hardly 
make  up  the  fum  of  that  one.  We  are  now 
railing  a  frelli  lublcription  for  you.  Tins  will  t*** 
our  rule  of  giving.  We  will  not  give  to  fots, 
gamblers,  and  fabbath-breakcrs.  Thofe  who  do 
not  fet  their  young  children  to'  work  on  week¬ 
days,  and  lend  them  to  Ichool  on  Sundays,  delerve 
little  favour.  No  man  fhould  keep  a  dog  till  he 
has  mote  food  than  his  family  wants.  If  he  feeds 
them  at  home,  they  rob  his  children ;  if  he 
ftarves  them,  they  rob  his  neighbours.  We  have 
heard  in  a  neighbouring  city,  that  fome  people 
carried  back  the  fubfcription  loaves,  becaufe  they 
were  too  coarfe ;  but  we  hope  better  things  of 
you.  Here  Betty  Plane  begged,  with  all  humi¬ 
lity,  to  put  in  a  word.  Certainly,  faid  the  Doftor, 
we  will  liften  to  all  model!:  complaints,  and  try  to 
redrefs  them.  You  are  pleafed  to  fay,  fir,  faid 
Hie,  that  we  might  find  much  comfort  from 
buying  coarfe  bits  of  beef.  And  lb  we  might; 
but  do  you  not  know,  fir,  that  we  could  leldom 

get  them,  even  when  we  had  the  money,  and 

times  were  not  fo  bad.  How  fo,  Betty  ?  Sir,  when 
we  go  to  butcher  jobbins,  for  a  bit  of  Ihin,  or 
any  other  lean  piece,  his  anfwer  is,  You  can’t 

have  it  to  day.  The  cook  at  the  great  houfe  has 

befpoke  it  for  gravy,  or  the  Doctor’s  maid. 


2$6  Tom  White,  the  Toft ilion. 

(begging  your  pardon,  fir,)  has  juft  ordered  it  for 
foup.  Now,  fir,  if  fuch  kind  gentlefolks  were 
aware,  that  this  gravy  and  foup  not  only  conlume 
a  great  deal  of  meat,  (which,  to  be  fure,  thofe 
have  a  right  to  do  who  can  pay  for  it,)  but  that  it 
takes  away  thofe  coarfe  pieces  which  the  poor 
would  buy,  if  they  bought  at  all,  I  am  lure  they 
would  not  do  it.  For,  indeed,  the  rich  have  been 
very  kind,  and  I  don’t  know  what  we  fhould  have 
done  without  them. 

I  thank  you  for  the  hint,  Betty,  faid  the  Dodtor, 
and  I  allure  you  I  will  have  no  more  gravy  foup. 
My  garden  will  fupply  me  with  foups,  that  are 
both  wholefomer  and  better ;  and  I  will  anfwer 
for  my  lady  at  the  great  houfe,  that  fhe  will  do 
the  fame.  I  hope  this  will  become  a  general 
rule,  and  then  we  lhall  expedi  that  butchers  will 
favour  you  in  the  prices  of  the  coarfe  pieces,  if 
we  who  are  rich  buy  nothing  but  the  prime.  In 
our  gifts  we  fhall  prefer,  as  the  farmer  has  told 
you,  thofe  who  keep  fteadily  to  their  work  :  fuch 
as  come  to  the  veftry  for  a  loaf,  and  do  not  come 
to  church  for  the  fermon,  we  lhall  mark  ;  and  * 
prefer  thofe  who  come  conftantly  whether  there 
are  any  gifts  or  not.  But  there  is  one  rule  from 
which  we  never  will  depart.  Thofe  who  have 
been  feen  aiding,  or  abetting  any  riot,  any  attack 
on  butchers,  bakers,  wheat-mows,  mills,  or  mil¬ 
lers,  we  will  not  relieve  ;  but  with  the  quiet, 
contented,  hard-working  man,  I  will  lhare  my 
laft  morfel  of  bread.  I  lhall  only  add,  though  it 
has  pleafed  God  to  fend  us  this  vifitation  as  a 
punifhment,  yet  we  may  convert  this  Ihort  trial 
into  a  lafting  blelftng,  if  we  all  [turn  over  a  new 


\ 


Tom  White ,  the  Pojl Won*  287 

leaf*  Profperity  had  made  mofl  of  us  carelels. 
The  thoughtlefs  profufion  of  fome  of  the  rich 
could  only  be  exceeded  by  the  idlenefs,  and  bad 
management  of  fome  of  the  poor.  Let  us  now, 
at  laft,  adopt  that  good  old  maxim,  every  one 
mend  one .  And  may  God  add  his  blefling  i 
The  people  now  chearfully  departed  with  their 
rice,  refolving,  as  many  of  them  as  could  get 
milk,  to  put  one  of  IVIrs,  White’s  receipts  in 

practice  that  very  night;  and  a  rare  fupper  they 
had . 

I  hope  foon  to  give  a  good  account  how  this 
parifli  improved  in  eafe  and  comfort,  by  their  im¬ 
provement  in  frugality  and  good  management. 


*  • 

7 


t 


[ 


V 


THE 


COTTAGE  COOK, 

OR 

* 

Mrs.  JONES’s  CHEAP  DISHES. 

SHEWING  THE  WAY  TO  DO  MUCH  GOOD 

_  t 

WITH  LITTLE  MONEY. 


IVArS.  JONES  was  a  great  merchant's  lady. 
She  was  liberal  to  the  poor,  in  giving  them 
money  ;  but  as  fhe  was  too  much  taken  up  with 
the  world,  fhe  did  not  fpare  fo  much  of  her  time 
and  thoughts  about  doing  good  as  fhe  ought,  fo 
that  her  money  was  often  ill- bellowed.  In  the 
late  troubles,  Mr.  Jones,  who  had  lived  in  a  grand 
manner,  failed ;  and  he  took  his  misfortunes  fo 
much  to  heart,  that  he  fell  fick  and  died.  Mrs. 
Jones  retired,  on  a  very  narrow  income,  to  the 
fmall  village  ofWefton,  where  fhe  feldom  went 
out  except  to  church.  Though  a  pious  woman, 
fhe  was  too  apt  to  indulge  her  forrow ;  and 
though  fhe  did  not  negleCt  to  read  and  pray,  yet 
fhe  gave  up  a  great  part  of  her  time  to  melan¬ 
choly  thoughts,  and  grew  quite  inactive.  She 
well  knew  how  finful  it  would  be  for  her  to  leek 
a  cure  for  her  grief  in  worldly  pkafures,  which  is 
a  way  many  people  take  under  afflictions  s  but 


7  he  Cottage  Cook ,  2S9 

Hi e  was  not  aware  how  wrong 'it  was  to  weep 
away  .that  time  which  might  have  been  better 
(pent  in  drying  the  tears  of  others. 

. lt  was  haPPy  for  her,  that  Mr.  Sknpfon*  the 
vicar  of  Weftori,  was  a  pious  man.  One  Sunday 
ne  happened  to  preach  on  the  Good  Samaritan. 

.  v/as  a  charity  fermon,  and  there  was  a  collec¬ 
tion  at  the  door.  He  called  on  Mrs.  Jones  after 
church,  and  found  her  in  tears.  She  told  him 
fo£  been  much  moved  by  his  difcourfe,  and 
ihe  wept  becaufe  ill c  had  lo  little  to  give  to  the 
plate ;  for  though  die  felt  very  keenly  for  the 
poor  in  thefe  dear  times,  yet  die  could  not  affift 
them.  Indeed,  dr,  added  die,  I  never  fo  much 
regretted  the  lofs  of  my  fortune,  as  this  afternoon, 
when  you  bade  us  go .  and  do  likezvife. — You  do 
not,  replied  Mr.  Simpfon,  enter  into  the  fpirit  of 
our  Saviour’s  parable,  if  you  think  you  cannot  go 
and  do  Ukewije  without  being  rich.  In  the  cafe  of 
the  Samaritan,  you  may  obferve,  that  charity  was 
afforded  more  by  kindnefs,  and  care,  and  medi¬ 
cine,  than  by  money.  You,  , madam,  were  as 
much  concerned  in  mv  fermon  as  Sir  John  with 
his  great  eftate ;  and,  to  fpeak  plainly,  I  have 
been  fometimes  furprifed  that  you  diould  not  put 
yourfelfin  the  way  of  being  more  ufeful. 

Sir,  laid  Mrs.  Jones,  I  am  grown  diy  of  the 
poor  fince  I  have  nothing  to  give  them.  Nothin^  J 
riiadam,  replied  the  clergyman,  do  you  call  your 
time,  your  talents,  .your  kind  offices,  nothing?  I 
will  venture  to  fay  that  you  might  do  more  good 
than  the  ficneft  man  in  the  parifh  could  do  by 
merely  giving  his  money.  Inftead  of  fitting  here. 


29O  *tbe  Cottage  Cook. 

bfoodirlg  dver  your  misfortunes,  which  are  pad: 
■remedy,  beftir  yourfelf  to  find  out  ways  of  doing 
much  good  with  little  money ;  or  even  without 
any  money  at  all.  You  have  lately  ftudied  osco- 
nomy  for  yourfelf;  inftfuft  your  poor  neighbours 
in  that  important  art.  They  want  it  almoft  as 
much  as  they  want  money.  You  have  influence 
with  the  few  rich  perfons  in  the  parifh ;  exert  that 
influence.  Betty,  my  houfekeeper,  fhall  afllft 
you  in  any  thing  in  which  fhe  can  be  ufeful.  Try 
this  for  one  year,  and  if  you  then  tell  me  that  you 
ihould  have  better  fhewn  your  love  to  God  and 
man,  and  been  a  happier  woman  had  you  conti¬ 
nued  gloomy  and  inactive,  I  fhall  be  much  fur- 
prifed,  and  fhall  content  to  your  refuming  your 
prefent  way  of  life* 

The  fermon  and  this  difcourfe  made  fo  deep 
an  imprefhon  on  Mrs.  Jones,  that  fhe  formed  a 
new  plan  of  life,  and  let  about  it  at  once,  as  every 
body  does  who  is  in  earned:.  Her  chief  aim  was 
the  happinefs  of  her  poor  neighbours  in  the  next 
world  ;  but  fhe  was  alio  very  defirous  to  promote 
their  prefent  comfort.  The  plans  fhe  purfued 
with  a  view  to  the  latter  objedl,  fhall  be  explained 
in  this  little  book.  Mrs.  Tones  was  much  re- 
fpedted  by  all  the  rich  perfons  in  Wetlon,  who 
had  known  i\er  in  her  proiperity.  Sir  John  was 
thoughtlefs,  lavifh,  and  indolent.  1  he  Squire 
was  over-frugal,  but  active,  fober,  and  not  ill- 
natured.  Sir  John  loved  pieafure,  the  Squire  - 
loved  money.  Sir  John  was  one  of  thole  popu¬ 
lar  fort  of  people  who  get  much  praife  and  yet  do 
little  good ;  who  fubfcribe  with  equal  readinefs 
to  a  cricket  match,  or  a  charity  fchool ;  who  taiee 


The  Cottage  Cook,  zft 

it  for  granted  that  the  poor  are  to  be  indulged 
with  bell-ringing  and  bonfires,  and  to  be  made 
drunk  at  Chfidmas  j  this  Sir  John  called  being 
kind  to  them ;  but  he  thought  it  was  folly  to  teach 
them,  and  madnefs  to  think  of  reforming  them. 
He  was,  however,  always  ready  to  give  his 
guinea  j  but  I  queftion  whether  he  would  have 
given  up  his  hunting  and  his  gaming  to  have  cured 
every  grievance  in  the  land.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  Squire  would  a  Hi  ft  Mrs.  Jones  in  any  of  her 
plans  if  it  cod  him  nothing ;  fo  fhe  fhewed  her 
good  fenfe  by  never  afking  Sir  John  for  advice, 
or  the  Squire  for  fubfcriptions,  and  by  this  pru¬ 
dence  gained  the  full  fupport  of  both. 

Mrs.  Jones  refolved  to  fpend  two  or  three  days 
in  a  week  in  getting  acquainted  with  the  date  of 
the  parifh,  and  fhe  took  care  never  to  walk  out 
without  a  few  little  good  books  in  her  pocket  to 
give  away.  This,  though  a  cheap,  is  a  moil  im¬ 
portant  aft  of  charity  ;  it  has  various  ufes ;  it  fur- 
nifhes  the  poor  with  knowledge,  which  they  have 
no  other  way  of  obtaining ;  and  it  is  the  bed  in¬ 
troduction  for  any  ufefui  converfation  which  the 
giver  of  the  book  may  with  to  introduce. 

She  found  that  among  the  numerous  wants,  fhe 
met  with,  no  frriall  diare  was  owing  to  bad  ma¬ 
nagement,  or  to  impofition  :  Ihe  was  druck  with 
the  fmall  fize  oi  the  loaves.  Wheat  was  not  now* 
very  dear,  and  Hie  was  fore  a  good  deal  of  blame 
reded  with  the  baker.  She  fent  tor  a  (hilling ’loaf, 
to  the  next  great  town  where  the  mayor  often  fent 
to  the  bakers’  drops  to  fee  that  the  bread  was  pro¬ 
per  weight.  She  weighed  her  town  loaf  againfr 

O  o 

2 


The  Cottage  Cook, 

her  country  loaf,  and  found  the  latter  two  pounds 
lighter  than  it  ought  to  be.  This  was  not  the  fort 
of  grievance  to  carry  to  Sir  John  ;  but  luckily  the 
Squire  was  alfo  a  magistrate,  and  it  was  quite  in 
his  way.  He  told  her  he  could  remedy  the  evil 
if  fom'e  one  would  lodge  an  information  againil  the 
Taker. ,  t  .  •  i  I  k  i  • , 

/  THE  INFORMER. 

She  dropt  in  on  the  blackfmith.  He  was  at 
dinner.  She  enquired  if  his  bread  was  good. — 
Aye,  good  enough,  miflrefs,  for  you  lee  it  is  as 
white  as  vour  cap,  if  we  had  but  more  of  it. — 
Here's  a  frxpenny  loaf,  you  might  take  it  for  a 
penny  role  !  He  then  heartily  curled  Crib,  the 
baker,  and  faid,  he  ought  to  be  hanged.  Mrs. 
Jones  now  told  him  what  fhe  had  done,  how  (he 
had  detected  the  fraud,  and  affured  him  the  evil 
(liquid  be  redrafted  on  the  morrow,  provided  he 
would  appear  and  inform.  I  inform !  faid  he, 
with  a  (hocking  oath,  hang  an  informer !  I  fcorn 
the  office.  You  are  nice  in  the  wrong  place, 
friend,  replied  Mrs.  Jones,  for  you  don't  fcorn  to 
abufe  the  baker,  nor  to  be  in  a  paffion,  nor  to 
fwear,  though  you  fcorn  to  redrefs  a  public  injury, 
and  to  increafe  your  childrens’ bread.  Let  me 
tell  you,  there  is  nothing  in  which  you  ignorant 
people  miftake  more  than  in  your  notions  about 
informers.  Informing  is  a  lawful  way  of  obtaining 
redrefs;  and  though  it  is  a  mifchievous  and  a 
hateful  thing  to  go  to  a  juftice  about  every  trifling 
matter,  yet  laying  an  information  on  important 
cccafions,  without  malice,  or  bitternefs  of  tiny 

5 


The  Cottage  Cook .  29  'j 

kiridj  is  what  no  honed  man  ought  to  be  aihamed  1 
of.  The  fhame  is  to  commit  the  offence,  not  to 
inform  againd  it.  I,  for  my  part,  fhould  perhaps 
do  right  if  I  not  only  informed  againd  Crib,  for 
making  light  bread,  but  againd  you  for  fwearing 
at  him.  Well,  but  madam,  faid  the  fmith,  a  little 
ibftened,  don’t  you  think  it  a  fin  and  a  fhame' to 
turn  informer  ?  So  far  from  it,  when  a  man’s 
motives  are  good,  faid  Mrs.  Jones,  that  in  fuch 
dear  cafes  as  the  prefent,  I  think  it  a  duty  and  a 
virtue.  If  it  is  right  that  there  fhould  be  laws,  it 
mud  be  right  that  they  fhould  be  put  in  execu¬ 
tion  ;  but  how  can  this  be,  if  people  will  not  in¬ 
form  the  magidrates  when  they  fee  the  laws  bro-- 
ken  ?  An  informer  by  trade  is  commonly  a  knave  5 
a  rafh,  malicious,  or  pa  [donate  informer  is  a  fire¬ 
brand;  but  honed  and  .prudent  informers  are  al~ 
mod  as  ufeful*  members  of  fbciety  as  the  judges  of 
the  land.  If  you  continue  in  your  prefent  mind 
on  this  fubje<d,r  do  not  you  think  that  you  will  be 
anfwerable  for  the  crimes  you  might  have  pre¬ 
vented  by  informing,  and  be  a  fort  of  accomplice 
of  the  villains  who  commit  them  ? 

Well,  madam,  faid  the  fmith,  I  now  lee  plainly4 
enough  that  there  is  no  fhame  in  turning  informer 
when  my  caufe  is  good.  And  your  motive 
right,  always  mind  that,  faid  Mrs.  Jones.  Next 
day  the  fmith  attended,  Crib  was  fined  in  the  ufual 
penalty,  his  light  bread  was  taken  from  him  and 
given  to  the  poor.  The  judices  refolved  hence¬ 
forward  to  infpeft  the  bakers  in  their  didridl ;  and 
all  of  them,  except  Crib,  and  fuch  as  Crib,  were 
glad  of  it,  for  honedy  never  dreads  a  trial.  Thus 

Oj 


294  *  The  Cottage  Cook . 

had  Mrs.  Jones  the  comfort  of  feeing  how  ufeful 
people  may  be  without  expence ;  for  if  fhe  could 
have  given  the  poor  fifty  pounds,  fhe  would  not 
have  done  them  fo  great,  or  fo  lading  a  benefit; 
and  the  true  light  in  which  fhe  had  put  the  bufmefs 
of  informing  was  of  no  fmall  ufe. 

There  were  two.  (hops  in  the  parifh,  but  Mrs, 
Sparks  at  the  Crofe,  had  not  half  fo  much  cuftojn 
as  Wills,  at  the  Sugar  Loaf,  though  fhe  fold*  her 
goods  a  penny  in  a  fhilling  cheaper,  and  all  agreed 
that  they  were  much  better.  Mrs.  Jones  afked 
Mrs.  Sparks  the  reafon.  Madam,  faid  the  (hop- 
keeper,  Mr.  Wills  wall  give  longer  truft,  Befides 
this,  his  wife  keeps  (hop  on  a  Sunday  Morning 
while  I  am  at  church.  Mrs.  Jones  now  reminded 
Mr.  Simpfon  to  read  the  King's  Proclamation 
againfl:  vice  and  immorality  next  Sunday,  at 
church,  and  prevailed  on  the  Squire  to  fine  any 
one  who  fhould  keep  open  fhop  on  a  Sunday. — 
She  alfo  put  the  people  in  mind  that  a  fhopkeeper, 
who  would  fell  on  a  Sunday,  would  be  more  likely 
to  cheat  them  all  the  week,  than  one  who  went  to 
church. 

She  alfo  laboured  hard  to  convince  them  how 
much  they  would  leffen  their  diftrefs,  if  they  would 
contrive  to  deal  with  Mrs.  Sparks  for  ready  money, 
rather  than  with  Wills  on  long  credit ;  thofe  who 
liftened  to  her  found  their  circumftances  far  more 
comfortable  at  the  year’s  end,  while  the  red, 
tempted,  like  feme  of  their  betters,  by  the  plea- 
fare  of  putting  off  the  evil  day  of  payment,  like 
them  at  laid  found  themfelves  plunged  in  debt  and 
d  iff  refs.  She  took  care  to  make  a  good  ufe  of 
fuch  inftances  in  her  converfation  with  the  poor. 


The  Cottage  Cook .  29! 

and,  by  perfeverance,  fhe  at  length  brought  them 
fo  much  to  her  way  of  thinking,  that  Wills  found 
it  to  be  his  in  tc  reft  to  alter  his  plan,  and  fell  his 
goods  on  as  good  terms  and  as  fhort  credit  as  Mrs, 

O  O 

Sparks  fold  her’s.  This  compleated  Mrs.  j  ones’s 
fuccefs,  and'fhe  had  the  fatisfatlion  of  having  put 
a  ftc-p  to  three  or  four  great  evils  in  the  pari fn  of 
Wefton,  without  fpending  a  frilling  in  doing  it. 

Patty  Smart  and  Jenny  Rofe  were  thought  to 
be  the  two  beft  managers  in  the  parifh.  They 
both  told  Mrs.  Jones,  that  the  poor  would  get  the 
coarfe  pieces  of  meat  cheaper,  if  the  gentle-folks 
did  not  buy  them  for  foups  and  gravy.  Mrs. 
Jones  thought  there  was  reafon  in  this  3  fo  away 
fire  went  to  Sir  John,  the  Squire,  the  Surgeon, 
the  Attorney,  and  the  Steward,  the  only  perfons 
in  the  parifh  who  could  afford  to  buy  coftly  things. 
She  told  them,  that  if  they  would  all  be  fo  good 
as  to  buy  only  prime  pieces,  which  they  could  very 
well  afford,  the  coarfe  and  cheap  joints  would 
come  more  within  the  reach  of  t;he  poor.  Molt 
of  the  gentry  readily  confented.  Sir  John  cared 
not  what  his  meat  coft  him,  but  told  Mrs.  Jones 
in  his  gay  way,  that  he  would  eat  any  thing,  or 
give  any  thing,  fo  that  fhe  would  not  teafe  him 
with  long  (lories  about  the  poor.  The  Squire 
faid,  he  fhould  prefer  vegetable  foups,  becaufe 
they  were  cheaper,  and  the  Dodlor  preferred  them 
becaufe  they  were  wholefomer.  The  Steward 
chofe  to  imitate  the  Squire  and  the  Attorney 
found  it  would  be  quite  ungenteei  to  (land  out.— 
So  gravy  foups  became  very  unfafhionable  in 
the  parifh  of  W eflon ;  and  I  am  fure  if  rick 

O  4 


2  9 6  The  Cotta ge  Cook , 

♦  t  • 

people  did  but  think  a  little  on  this  fubjeft,  they 
would  become  as  unfafhionable  in  many  other, 
places. 

When  wheat  grew  cheaper,  Mrs.  Jones  was 
earneft  with  the  poor  woman  to  bake  large  brown 
loaves  at  home,  inflead  of  buying  fmall  white 
ones  "at  the  fhop.  Mrs.  Betty  had  told  her,  that 
baking  at  home  would  be  one  ftep  towards  re- 
i'loring  the  good  old  management.  Only  Patty 
Smart  and  jenny  Role  baked  at  home  in  the  whole 
parifh,  and  who  lived  fo  well  as  they  did?  Yet 
the  general  objection  feemed  reafonable.  They 
could  not  bake  without  yeaft,  which  often  could 
not  be  had,  as,  no  one  brewed  except  the  great 
folks  and  the  public  houfes.  Mrs.  Jones  found 
however,  that  Patty  and  Jenny  contrived  to  brew 
as  well  as  to  bake.  She  fent  for  thefe  women, 
knowing  that  from  them  Hie  could  get  truth  and 
reafon.  How  comes  it,  faid  Ihe  to  them,  that 
you  two  are  the  only  poor  women  in  the  parifh 
who  can  afford  to  brew  a  fmall  calk  of  beer  ? — 
Your  hufbands  have  no  better  wages  than  other 
men.  True,  madam,  faid  Patty,  but  they  never 
Jet  foot  in  a  public  hotife.  I  will  tell  you  the 
truth.  When  1  firft  married,  our  John  went  to 
the  Checquers  every  night,  and  I  had  my  tea  and 
frefh  butter  twice  a  day  at  home.  This  flop, 
which  con  fumed  a  deal  of  fugar,  began  to  rake 
my  ftomach  fa dly,  as  1  had  neither  meat  nonmilk ; 
at  lap,  (I  am  afhamed  to  own  it)  I  began  to  take 
a  drop  of  gin  to  quiet  the  pain,  till  in  time  l 
looked  for  my  gin  as  regularly  as  for  my  tea. — 
At  laft  the  gi-n,  the  alehoufe,  and  the  tea,  began 
to  make  us  both  fick  and  poor,  and  I  had  liked 


s 


The  Cottage  Cook .  297 

to  have- died  with  my  firft  child.  Parfon  Simp- 
ion  then  talked  lb  finely  to  us  on  the  fubjed  of 
improper  indulgences,  that  we  relolved,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  I  pro- 
mifed  John,  if  he  would  give  up  the  Checquers, 

I  would  break  the  gin  bottle,  and  never  drink  tea 
in  the  afternoon,  except  on  Sundays,  when  he  was 
at  home  with  me.  We  have  kept  our  word,  - 
and  both  our  eating  and  drinking,  our  health,  and 
our  confciences  are  better  for  it.  Though  meat ; 
is  fadly  dear,  we  can  buy  two  pounds  of  frefh 
meat  for  lefs  than  one  pound  of  frefh  butter,  and 
it  gives  five  times  the  nourifhment.  And  dear  as  ■ 
malt  is,  I  contrive  to  keep  a  drop  of  drink  in  the 
houfe  for  John,  and  John  will  make  me  drink*' 
half  a  pint  with  him  every  evening,  and  a  pint  a  * 
day  when  I  am  a-nurfe. 

As  one  good  deed  as  well  as  one  bad  one  brings 
on  another,  this  converfation  fet  Mrs.  Jones  on  * 
enquiring  why  To  many  ale-houfes  were  allowed. 
She  did  not*  chufe  to  talk  to  Sir  John  on  this 
fubjcdt,  who  would  only  have  faid,  let  them  enjoy 
themfelves,  poor  fellows ;  if  they  get  drunk  now ' 
and  then,  they,  work  hard.  But  thofe  who  have  ' 
this  falfe  good  nature  forget,  that  while  the*  man 
is  enjoying  himfelf \  as  it  is  called,  his  wife  and 
children  are  ragged  and  flarving.  True  chriftian 
good  nature  never  indulges  one  at  the  coir  of 
many,  but  is  kind  to  all.  The  Squire,  who  was 
friend  to  order,  took  up  the  matter.  He  con- 
fuked  Mr.  Simplon.  The  Lion,  faid  he,  is  ne- 
cefFary.  It  Hands  by  the  roadfide :  travellers 
snuft  have  a  refting-piace.  As  to  the  Checquers 


29S  The  Cottage  Cock . 

and  the  Bell  they  do  no  good,  but  much  harm.— 
Mr.  Simpfon  had  before  made  many  attempts  to 
get  the  Checquers  put  down ;  but,  unluckily,  it 
was  Sir  John's  own  houfe,  and  kept  by  his  late 
butler.  Not  that  Sir  John  valued  the  rent,  but 
he  had  a  falfe  kindnefs  which  made  him  fupport 
the  caufe  of  an  old  fervant,  though  he  knew,  he 
kept  a  diforderly  houfe.  The  Squire,  however, 
now  took  away  the  licence  from  the  Bell.  And 
a  fray  happening  foon  after  at  the  Checquers, 
(which  was  near  the  church)  in  time  of  divine 
iervice,  Sir  John  was  obliged  to  fuffer  the  houfe 
to  be  put  down  as  a  nuifance.  You  would  not 
believe  how  many  poor  families  were  able  to  brew 
a  little  calk  when  the  temptations  of  thofe  ale- 
houfes  were  taken  out  of  their  way.  Mrs.  Jones, 
in  her  evening  walks,  had  the  pleafure  to  fee 
many  an  honeft  man  drinking  his  wholefome  cup 
of  beer  by  his  own  fire-fide,  his  rofy  children 
playing  about  his  knees,  his  clean  chearful  wife 
ranging  her  youngeft  baby  to  fleep,  rocking  the 
cradle  with  her  foot,  while  with  her  hands  fhe  was 
making  a  dumpling  for  her  kind  hufband’s  flipper. 
Some  few,  I  am  forry  to  fay,  though  I  don’t  chufe 
to  name  names.  Hill  preferred  getting  drunk  once 
a  week  at  the  Lion,  and  drinking  water  at  other 
times. 

The  good  women,  being  now  fupplied  with 
yeah:  from  each  other’s  brewings,  would  have 
baked,  but  two  difficulties  fiill  remained.  Many 
of  them  had  no  ovens,  for  fince  the  new  bad  ma¬ 
nagement  had  crept  in,  many  cottages  have  been 
built  without  this  convenience.  Fuel  alfo  was 
icarce  at  Wefton*  Mrs.  Jones  advifed  the  builds 


The  Cottage  Cook .  299 

ing  a  large  parifh  oven.  Sir  John  fubfcribed  to 
be  rid  of  her  importunity,  and  the  Squire  becaufe 
he  thought  every  improvement  in  oeconomy  would 
reduce  the  poor  rate.  It  was  foon  accompli  (lied, 
and  to  this  oven,  at  a  certain  hour,  three  times  a 
week,  the  elder  children  carried  their  loaves  which, 
their  mothers  had  made  at  home,  and  paid  a  half¬ 
penny,  or  a  penny,  according  to  their  fize,  for  the 
baking. 

Mrs.  Jones  found  that  no  poor  women  in  Wef— 
ton  could  buy  a  little,  milk,  as  the  farmers’  wive^ 
did  not  care  to  rob  their  dairies.  This  was  a  great- 
diflrefs,  efpecially  when  the  children  were  fick. — • 
So  Mrs  Jones  advifed  Mrs.  Sparks,,  at  the  Crofs*, 
to  keep  a  couple  of  cows  and  fell  out  the  milk  by. 
halfpennyworths.  She  did  fo,  and  found,  that: 
though  this  plan  gave  her  fome  additional  trouble*, 
fhe  got  full  as  much  by  it  as  if  (he  had  made 
cheefe  and  butter.  She  alfo  fold  rice  at  a  cheap 
rate,  fo  that  with  the  help  of  the  milk,  and  the 
public  oven,  a  fine  rice  pudding  was  to  be  had 
for  a  trifle. 

The  girls’  fchool,  in  the  pariib,  was  fallen  into 
negled,  for  though  many  would  be  fubferibers* 
yet  no  one  would  look  after  it.,  X  wifh  this  was 
the  cafe  at  Wefton  only ;  many  fchools  have 
come  to  nothing,,  and  many  pariflies  are  quite 
defti.tute  of  fchools,  becaufe  too  many  gentry 
neglect  to  make  it  a  part  of  the  duty  of  their 
grown-up  daughters  to  inlped  the  inftru&ion  of 
the  poor.  It  was  not  in  Mr.Simpfon’s  way  to  fee 
ir  girls  were  taught  to  work.  This  is  ladies’  buff 
nefs,  Mrs.  Jones  confulted  her  counfdior,  Mrs* 

O.  6 


3°°  The  Cottage  Cook. 

Betty,  and  they  went  every  Friday  to  the  fchool, 
where  they  invited  mothers  as  well  as  daughters 
to  come,  and  learn,  to  cut  out  to  the  bcft  advan¬ 
tage.  Mrs.  Jones  had  not  been  bred  to  thefe 
things,  but  by  means  of  Mrs.  Cowper’s  excellent 
cutting-out  book,  (he  foon  became  miftrefs  of  the 
whole  art.  She  not  only  had  the  girls  taught  to 
make  and  mend,  but  to  wall)  and  iron  too*.  She 
alfo  allowed  the  mother,  or  elded  daughter  of 
every  family,  to  come  once  a  week,  and  learn  how 
to  drefs  one  cheap  dijh.  One  Friday,  which  was 
cooking  day,  who  fhould  pafs  by  but  the  Squire, 
with  his  gun  and  dogs.  He  looked  into  the 
fchool  for  the  firft  time.  Well,  madam,  laid  he, 
what  good  are  you  doing  here?  What  are  your 
girls  learning  and  earning?  Where  are  your 
manufactures  ?  Where  is  your  fpinning  and 
your  carding  ?  Sir,  laid  (he,  this  is  a  fmall  parifh, 
and  you  know  ours  is  not  a  manufacturing  county; 
fo  that  when  thefe  girls  are  women,  they  will  not 
be  much  employed  in  fpinning.  However,  we 
teach  them  a  little  of  it,  and  (till  more  of  knitting, 
that  they  may  be  able  to  get  up  a  fmall  piece  of 
houfehold  linen  once  a  year,  and  provide  the 
family  with  dockings,  by  employing  the  odds  and 
ends  of  their  time  in  thefe  ways.  But  there  is  a 
manufacture  which  I  am  carrying  on,  and  I  know 
of  none  within  my  own  reach  which  is  fo  valuable. 
What  can  that  be  ?  faid  the  Squire.  To  make  good 
wives  for  workingmen ,  faid  (he..  Is  not  mine  an 

*  How  Mrs.  Jones  managed  her  Sunday  Schools,  and  alfo 
her  method  of  religious  inltruftion  on  week  days,  may  be 
(hewn  hereafter. 


The  Cottage  Cook .  301 

excellent  ftaple  commodity  ?  I  am  teaching  thefe 
girls  the  art  of  induftry  and  good  management. — - 
It  is  little  encouragement  to  an  honefl  man  to 
work  hard  all  the  week,  if  his  wages  are  waked 
by  a  flattern  at  home.  Moll  of  thefe  girls  will 
probably  become  wives  to  the  poor,  or  fervants 
to  the  rich ;  to  fuch  the  common  arts  of  life  are 
of  great  value  ;  now  as  there  is  little  opportunity 
for  learning  thefe  at  the  fchool  houfe,  I  intend  to 
propofe  that  fuch  gentry  as  have  fober  fervants, 
fhall  allow  one  of  thefe  girls  to  come  and  work 
in  their  families  one  day  in  a  week,  when  the 
houfekeeper,  the  cook,  the  houfemaid,  or  the 
laundry-maid,  (hall  be  required  to  inflrudl  them 
in  their  feveral  departments.  This  I  conceive  to 
be  the  bell  way  of  training  good  fervants.  What 
have  you  got  on  the  fire,  madam  ?  faid  the  Squire, 
for  your  pot  really  fmells  as  favory  as  if  Sir  J  ohn’s 
French  cook  had  filled  it.  Sir,  replied  Mrs. 
Jones,  I  have  lately  got  acquainted  with  Mrs. 
White,  who  has  given  us  an  account  of  her  cheap 
difhes,  and  nice  cookery,  in  one  of  the  Cheap 
Repofitory  little  books*.  Mrs.  Betty  and  I  have 
made  all  her  dilhes,  and  very  good  they  are,  and 
we  have  got  feveral  others  of  our  own.  Every 
Friday  we  come  here  and  drefs  one.  Thefe 
good  women  fee  how  it  is  done,  and  learn  to  drefs 
it  at  their  own  houfes.  I  take  home  part  of  my 
own  dinner,  and  what  is  left  I  give  to  each  in  turn. 
I  hope  I  have  opened  their  eyes  on  a  fad  miflake 
they  had  got  into,  that  we  think  any  thing  is  good 

*  See  “  The  Way  to  Plenty,-  fold  by  T,  Evans,  Long 
lane,  Weft  Smithfield.  Price  ifd. 


J02  • '  The  Cottage  Cook. 

enough  for  the  poor.  Now  I  do  not  think  any  thino- 
good  enough  for  the  poor  which  is  not  clean^ 
wholefome,  and  palatable,  and  what  I  myfelf 
would  not  chearfuily  eat  if  my  circumfxances  re¬ 
quired  it. 

Pray,  Mrs.  Betty,  faid  the  ’Squire,  oblige  me 
with  a  bafon  of  your  foup.  The  Squire  found  it 
fo  good  after  his  walk,  that  he  was  almoft  forry 
he  had  pro  mi  fed  to  buy  no  more  legs  of  beef, 
and  declared,  that  not  one  Iheep’s  head  fhould 
ever  go  to  his  kennel  again.  He  bego-ed  his 
cook  might  have  the  receipt,  and  Mrs.  Jones 
wrote  it  out  for  her.  She  has  alfo  been  fo 
obliging  as  to  favour  me  with  a  copy  of  all  her  re¬ 
ceipts.  And  as  I  hate  all  monopoly,  and  fee  no 
reafon  why  fuch  cheap,  nourifhing,  and  favory 
difhes  fhould  be  confined  to  the  parifli  of  Wefton, 

I  print  them,  that  all  other  parifhes  may  have  the 
fame  advantage.  Not  only  the  poor,  but  all 
perfons  with  fmall  incomes  may  be  glad  of  them.. 
Well,  Madarq,  faid  Mr.  Simpfon,  who  came  in 
foon  after,  which  h  bed,  to  fit  down  and  cry  over 
our  misfortunes,  or  to  beilir  ourfelves  to  do  our 
duty  to  the  world? — Sir,  replied  Mrs,  Jones,  I 
thank  you  for  the  ufeful  leilon  you  have  given  me. 
You  have  taught  me,  that  our  time  and  talents 
are  to  be  employed  with  zeal  in  God’s  fervice,  if 
we  wifh  for  his  favour  here  or  hereafter*  and  that 
one  great  employment  of  them,  which  he  requires, 
is  the  promotion  of  the  prefent,  and  much  more 
the  future  happinefs  of  all  around  us.  You  have 
taught  me  that  much  good  may  be  done  with  ’ 
little  money ;  and  that  the  heart,  tfe  head,  and 
the  hands  are  of  fome  ufe  as  well  as  the  purie. 


rfhe  Cottage  Cook,  joj 

May  all  who  read  this  account  of  Mrs.  Jones* 
go  and  do  likewife  ! 

RECEIPT  I. 

Two  pounds  of  beef,  four  onions,  ten  turnips, 
half  a  pound  of  rice,  a  large  handful  of  parfley* 
thyme,  and  favory  ;  fame  pepper  and  fait ;  eight 
quarts  of  water.  Cut  the  beef  in  dices,  and  after 
it  has  boiled  fome  time,  cut  it  (till  fmaller.  The 
whole  fhould  boil  gently  about  two  hours,  on  a 
flow  fire.  If  fuel  be  fcarce,  it  may  be  dewed 
all  night  in  an  oven,  and  warmed  up  next  day.— 
You  may  add  oatmeal  and  potatoes. 

RECEIPT  II. 

Take  half  a  pound  of  beef,  mutton,  or  pork, 
cut  it  into  fmall  pieces  -y  half  a  pint  of  peafe,  four 
diced  turnips,  fix  potatoes  cut  very  fmall,  two 
onions ;  put  to  them  feven  pints  of  water.  Let 
the  whole  boil  gently  over  a  very  dow  fire  two 
hours  and  a  half.  Then  thicken  it  with  a  quarter 
of  a  pound  of  oatmeal.  After  the  thickening  is 
put  in,  boil  it  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  dirring  it  all 
the  time then  feafon  it  with  fait  and  pepper. 

RECEIPT  III. 

Take  two  pounds  of  fait  beef,  or  pork,  cut  it 
into  very  fmall  bits,  and  put  it  into  a  pot  with  fix 
quarts  of  water,  letting  it  boil  on  a  dow  fire  for 
three  quarters  of  an  hour  j  then  put  a  few  carrots, 
parfnips,  or  turnips,  all  cut  fmall  y  or  a  few  po¬ 
tatoes  diced  3  a  cabbage,  and  a  couple  of  creffes. 


304  The  Cottage  Cook . 

Thicken  the  whole  with  a  pint  of  oatmeal.  All 
thefe  to  be  well  feafoned  with  fait  and  pepper. 

\  * 

SOUPS. 

The  following  foups  Mrs.  Sparks  fold  ever y 
Saturday  in  fmall  quantities,  a  pint  of  the  foup, 
with  a  bit  of  the  meat  warmed  up  on  a  Sunday, 
made  a  dinner  for  a  grown  perfon. 

An  ox  cheek,  two  pecks  of  potatoes,  a  quarter 
of  a  peck  of  onions,  one  ounce  of  pepper,  half  a  • 
pound  of  fait,  boiled  all  together  in  ninety  pints', 
of  water  till  reduced  to  fixty  5  any.  garden-fluff: 
may  be  thrown  in. 

FRIENDLY  HINTS. 

.  The  difference  between  eating  bread  new  and 
Hale,  is  one  loafin  five. 

'  If  you  turn  your  meat  into  broth  it. will  go 
much  farther  than  if  you  roaft  or  bake  it*. 

If  you  have  a  garden  make  the  moil  of  it.  .  A 
bit  of  leek,  or  an  onion,  makes  all  difhes  favoury 
at  fmall  expence. 

If  the  money  fpent  on  frefh  butter  were  fpent 
on  meat,  poor  families  would  be  much  better  fed . 
than  they  are. 

If  the  money  fpent  on  tea  were  fpent  on  home¬ 
brewed  beer,  the  wife  would  be  better  fed,  the 
hulband  better  pleafed,  and  both  would  be 
healthier. 

Keep  a  little  Scotch  barley,  rice,  dry  peafe, 
and  oatmeal  in  the  houfe.  They  are  all  cheap, 
and  don't  fpoil.  Keep  alfo  pepper  and  ginger. 

Pay  your  debts,  ferve  God,  and-  love  your 
neighbour. 


N 


THfe 


SUNDAY  SCHOOL. 


I  Promifed,  in  the  Cottage  Cook,  to  give  fome 
account  of  the  manner  in  which  Mrs.  Jones  fet 
up  her  fchool.  She  did  not  much  fear  being  able 
to  raife  the  money,  but  money  is  of  little  ufe, 
unlefs  fome  perfons  of  fenfe  and  piety  can  be 
found  to  diredt  thefe  inftitutions.  Not  that  1 
would  difcourage  thofe  who  fet  them  up,  even  in 
the  moft  ordinary  manner,  and  from  mere  views 
of  worldly  policy.  It  is  fomething  gained  to 
refcue  children  from  idling  away  their  Sabbath  in 
the  fields  or  the  ftreets.  It  is  no  fmall  thing  to 
keep  them  from  thofe  tricks  to  which  a  day  of 
leilure  tempts  the  idle  and  the  ignorant.  It  is 


306  The  Sunday  School 

fomething  for  them  to  be  taught  to  read;  it  is 
much  to  be  taught  to  read  the  Bible,  and  much, 
indeed,  to  be  carried  regularly  to  church.  But 
all  this  is  not  enough.  To  bring  thefe  indinT 
tions  to  anfwer  their  highed  end,  c,an  only  be  ef¬ 
fected  by  God's  blefling  on  the  bed  dire&ed 
means,  the  choice  of  able  teachers,  and  a  diligent 
attention  in  fome  pious  gentry  to  vifit  and  infpedt 
the  fchools* 


Otf  RECOMMENDATIONS* 

Mrs.  Jones  had  one  talent  that  eminently  qua* 
lifted  her  to  do  good,  namely,  judgment;  this> 
even  in  the  gay  part  of  her  life,  had  kept  her  from 
mapy  midakes ;  but  though  fhe  had  fome  tiroes 
been  deceived  herfelf,  fhe  was  very  careful  not  to 
deceive  others,  in  recommending  people  to  fill 
any  office  for  which  they  were  unfit,  either 
through  felfiffinefs  or  falfe  kindnefs.  She  ufed  to 
fay,  there  is  always  fome  one  appropriate  quality 
which  every  perfon  mud  poffefs,  in  order  to  fit 
them  for  any  particular  employment.  Even  in 
this  quality,  faid  fire  to  Mr.  Simpfon,  the  clergy¬ 
man,  I  do  not  expecd  perfection  ;  but  if  they  are 
diditute  of  this,  whatever  good  qualities  they 
may  poffefs  befides,  though  they  may  do  for  fome 
other  employment,  they  will  not  do  for  this.  If 
I  want  a  pair  of  dices,  I  go  to  a  fhoemaker;  I  do 
not  go  to  a  man  of  another  trade,  however  in¬ 
genious  he  may  be,  to  afk  him  if  he  cannot  con - 
trive  to  make  me  a  pair  of  (hoes.  W hen  I  lived 
in  London,  I  learned  to  be  much  on  my  guard  as. 


The  Sunday  School .  307 

to  recommendations.  I  found  people  often  wanted 
to  impofe  on  me  fome  one  who  was  a  burthen  to 
themfelves.  Once  I  remember,  when  I  under¬ 
took  to  get  a  matron  for  an  hofpital,  half  my  ac¬ 
quaintance  had  fome  one  to  offer  me.  Mrs.  Gib- 
Ion  fent  me  an  old  cook,  whom  fhe  herfeif  had 
difcharged  for  wafting  her  own  provisions,  yet  fhe 
had  the  confcience  to  recommend  this  woman  to 
take  care  of  the  provifions  of  a  large  community. 
Mrs.  Grey  fent  me  a  difcarded  houfekeepcr,  whole 
conftitution  had  been  ruined  by  fitting  up  with 
Mrs.  Grey's  gouty  hufband,  but  who  fhe  yet 
thought  might  do  well  enough  to  undergo  the 
fatigue  of  taking  care  of  an  hundred  poor  Tick 
people.  A  third  friend  fent  me  a  woman  who 
had  no  merit  but  that  of  being  very  poor,  and  it 
would  be  charity  to  provide  for  her.  The  truth 
is,  the  lady  was  obliged  to  allow  her  a  fmall  pen- 
fion  till  fhe  could  get  her  off  her  own  hands,  by 
turning  her  on  thofe  of  others. 

.  It  is  very  true,  madam,  faid  Mr.  Simpfon,  the 
right  way  is  always  to  prefer  the  good  of  the  many 
to  the  good  of  one ;  if,  indeed,  it  can  be  called 
doing  good  to  any  one  to  place  them  in  a  ftatjon 
in  which  they  muft  feel  unhappy,  by  not  knowing 
how  to  difcharge  the  duties  of  it.  I  will  tell  you 
how  I  manage.  If  the  perions  recommended  are 
objects  of  charity,  I  privately  fubfcribe  to  their 
wants i  I  pity  and  help  them,  but  I  never  promote 
them  to  a  ftation  for  which  they  are  unfit,  as  I 
fhould  by  fo  doing  hurt  a  whole  community  to 
help  a  diftreffed  individual. 

Thus  Mrs.  Jones  refolved,  that  the  firft  ftep 
towards  letting  up  her  fchool  fhould  be  to  pro- 


jo8  The  Sunday  School . 

vide  a  fuitable  midrefs.  The  vedry  were  fo  ear¬ 
ned  in  recommending  one  woman,  that  fhe 
thought  it  worth  looking  into.  On  enquiry,  fhe 
found  it  was  a  fcheme  to  take  a  large  family  off 
the  parifli  ;  they  never  confidered  that  a  very 
'  ignorant  woman,  with  a  family  of  young  children, 
was  not  fit  for  a  fchool ;  all  they  confidered  was,, 
that  the  profits  of  the  fchool  might  enable  her  to 
live  without  parifli  pay.  Mrs.  Jones  refilled  an¬ 
other,  though  fhe  could  read  well,  and  was  decent 
in  her  condudt,  becaufe  fhe  ufed  to  fend  her  chil¬ 
dren  to  the  (hop  on  Sundays.  And  fhe  objected' 
to  a  third,  a  very  fenfible  woman,  becaufe  fhe  was 
fufpeded  of  making  an  outward  profeflion  of 
religion  a  cloak  for  immoral  condudt.  Mrs.  Jones 
knew'  fhe  mud  not  be  too  nice  neither  ;  fhe  knew 
fhe  muff  put  up  with  many  faults  at  lad.  I  know, 
faid  fhe  to  Mr.  Simpfon,  the  imperfection  of 
every  thing  that  is  human.  As  the  midrefs  will 
have  much  to  bear  with  from  the  children,  fo  X 
expedt  to  have  fomething  to  bear  with  in  the 
midrefs ;  and  fhe  and  I  mud  fubmit  to  our  re- 
fpedtive  trials,  by  thinking  how  much  God  has  to 
bear  with  in  us  all.  But  there  are  three  things 
which  a  midrefs  mud  not  be  without ;  good JenJe , 
activity ,  and  pety.  Without  the  fird  fhe  will 
miflead  others;  without  the  fecond  fhe  will  negledt 
them  ;  and  without  the  third,  though  fhe  may  ci- 
-vilize,  yet  fhe  will  never  chridianize  them. 

Mr.  Simpfon  faid,  he  really  knew  but  of  one 
perfon  in  the  parifli  who  was  fully  likely  to  an- 
fwer  her  purpofee  this,  continued  he,  is  no  other 
than  my  houfekeeper,  Mrs.  Betty  Crew.  It  will 
indeed  be  a  great  lofs  to  me  to  part  from  her^ 


I 


The  S  mid  ay  School.  jog 

and  to  her  it  will  be  a  far  more  fatiguing  life  than 
that  which  fhe  at  prefent  leads.  But  ought  I  to 
put  my  own  perfonal  comfort,  or  ought  Betty  to 
put  her  own  eafe  and  quiet,  in  competition  with 
the  good  of  above  an  hundred  children  ?  This  will 
appear  Bill  more  important,  if  we  confider  the 
good  clone,  not  as  a  fruit  but  feed ;  if  we  take 
into  the  account  how  many  yet  unborn  may  be  ¬ 
come  Chriftians,  in  confequence  of  our  making 
thefe  children  Chriftians.  For  how  can  we  cal¬ 
culate  the  number  which  may  be  hereafter  trained 
for  heaven,  by  thole  very  children  we  are  going 
to  teach,  when  they  themlelves  foall  become  pa¬ 
rents,  and  you  and  {  are  dead  and  forgotten  ?  To 
before,  by  my  parting  from  Betty,  mypeas-foup  will 
not  be  quite  fo  well  flavoured,  nor  my  linen  fo 
neatly  got  up ;  but  the  day  is  fafr  approaching 
when  all  this  will  fignify  but  little  ;  but  it  will  not 
figiAfy  a  littie  whether  one  hundred  immortal 
fouls  were  the  better  from  my  making  this  petty 
facrifice.  Betty  Crew  is  a  real  Chriftian,  has  ex¬ 
cellent  fenfe,  and  had  a  good  education  from  my 
mother.  She  has  alfo  had  a  little  fort  of  training 
for  the  bufinefs;  for  when  the  poor  children 
come  to  the  parfonage  for  the  broth  on  a  Satur¬ 
day  evening,  Betty  is  ufed  to  appoint  them  all  to 
come  at  the  fame  time,  and  after  foe  has  filled 
their  pitchers,  foe  ranges  them  round  her  in  the 
garden,  and  examines  them  in  their  catechifm. 
She  is  juft  and  fair  in  dealing  out  the  broth  and 
beef,  not  making  my  favour  to  the  parents  depend 
on  t he  fkill  of  tneir  children.  But  her  own  old 
caps,  and  riobons,  and  call  off  cloaths,  are  be- 
ftowed  as  little  .rewards  on  tne  beft  fcholars.  So 


2 io  The  Sunday  School. 

that  taking  the  time  llie  fpends  in  working  for 
them,  and  the  things  ike  gives  them,  there  is 
many  a  lady  who  does  not  exceed  Betty  in  ads  of 
charity:  this  I  mention  to  confirm  your  notion, 
that  it  is  not  neceffary  to  be  rich  in  order  to  do 
good  >  a  religious  upper  iervant  has  great  oppor¬ 
tunities  of  this  fort,  if  the  mailer  is  difpofed  to 
encourage  her. 

My  readers,  I  trail,  need  not  be  informed,  that 
this  is  that  very  Mrs.  Betty  Crew  who  affifted 
Mrs.  Jones  in  teaching  poor  women  to  cut  out 
linen  and  drefs  cheap  diihes,  as  related  in  the 
Cottage  Cook.  Mrs.  Jones,  in  the  following 
week,  got  together  as  many  of  the  mothers  as  fhe 
could,  and  fpoke  to  them  as  follows : 

.  mrs.  jones's  exhortation. 

My  good  women,  on  Sunday  next  I  propolc 
to  open  a  fchool  ror  the  inflrudion  of  your  chil¬ 
dren.  Thofe  among  you,  who  know  what  it  is 
to  be  able  to  read  your  Bible,  will,  I  doubt  not, 
rejoice  that  the  fame  bleffing  is  held  out  to  your 
children.  You  who  are  not  able  yourfelves  to 
read  what  your  Saviour  has  done  and  buffered  tor 
you,  ought  to  be  doubly  anxious  that  your  chil¬ 
dren  fhould  reap  a  bleflirig  which  you  have  loll. 
Would  not  that  mother  be  thought  an  unnatural 
moniler,  who  fhould  Hand  by  and  (hatch  out  of 
her  child’s  mouth  the  bread  which  a  kind  friend 
had  juft  put  into  it  ?  But  fuch  a  mother  would  be 
merciful,  compared  with  her  who  fhould  rob  her 
children  of  the  opportunity  of  learning  to  read  the 
word  of  God  when  it  is  neld  but  to  them, 

i  ■  - 


The  Sunday  School.  jT  t 

member,  that  if  you  flight  the  prefent  offer,  or  if 
after  having  fcnt  your  children  a  few  times,  you 
fhould  afterwards  keep  them  at  home  under  vain 
pretences,  you  will  have  to  anfwer  for  it  at  the 
P'  °  judgment.  Let  not  your  poor  children. 
then  have  caule  to  fay.  My  fond  mother  was  ray 
woilt  enemy.  I  might  have  been  bred  up  in  the 
ear  of  the  Lord,  and  line  oppofed  it,  for  the  fake 
of  giving  me  a  little  paltry  pleafure.-For  an  idle 
ftohday,  [  am  now  brought  to  the  gates  of  hell » 
My  dear  women,  which  of  you  could  bear  to  fee 
your  darling  child  condemned  to  everlafting  de- 
itrudhon  ?  Which  of  you  could  bear  to  hear  him 
accufe  you  as  the  caufe  of  it?  Is  there  any  mother 

Jiere  preierit,  who  will  venture  to  fay _ I  will 

doom  the  child  I  bore  to  fin  and  hell,  rather  than 
put  them  or  myfdf  to  a  little  prefent  pain,  by 
curtailing  their  evil  inclinations  !  I  will  let  them 

/*  .  .  in  ignorance  and  idlenefs,  in- 

ftead  of  refcumg  them  from  vanity  and  fin,  by 
encing  tnem  to  ichool !  Let  that  mother,  who 
values  her  child's  pleafure  more  than  his  foul,  now 
walk  away,  wnile  I  fet  down  in  my  lift  the  names 
of  all  thole  who  TOfh  to  bring  their  young  ones 

■  !,  ?  the  cl?at  ]eads  to  eternal  life,  inftead  of 
indulging  them  in  the  pleafures  of  fin,  which  are 
but  for  a  moment. 

\\  hen  Mrs.  Jones  had  done  fpeaking,  mod  of 
che  women  thanked  her  for  her  good  advice,  and 
ncped  tnat  God  would  give  them  grace  to  follow 
;  promiung  to  lend  their  children  conftantly. 
Utheis,  who  were  not  fo  well  difpofed,  were  vet 

"tV?"  ,l"  fi“  had  belli 

10  plainly  fet  before  them.  The  worft  of  the ' 


3  i  2  The  Sunday  School 

women  had  kept  away  from  this  meeting,  reviv¬ 
ing  to  fet  their  faces  againft  the  lchool.  Moll  of 
them  who  were  prefent,  as  foon  as  they  got  home, 
fet  about  providing  their  children  with  what  little 
decent  apparel  they  could  raife.  Many  a  willing 
mother  lent  her  tall  daughter  her  hat,  bed  cap, 
and  white  handkerchief ;  and  many  a  grateful  fa¬ 
ther  fpared  his  linen  waidcoat  and  bettermoft  hat, 
to  induce  his  grown  up  fon  to  attend ;  for  it  was 
a  rule  with  which  Mrs.  Jones  began,  that  die 
would  not  receive  the  younger  children  out  of 
any  family  who  did  not  fend  their  elder  ones. 
Too  many  made  excufes  that  their  dioes  were 
old,  or  their  hat  worn  out.  But  Mrs.  Jones  told 
them  not  to  bring  any  excufes  to  her  which  they 
could  not  bring  to  the  day  of  judgment ;  and 
among  thofe  excufes  fire  would  hardly  admit  any 
except  accidents,  ftcknefs,  or  attendance  on  dck 
parents,  or  young  children. 

SUBSCRIPTIONS. 

Mrs.  Jones  was  very  defirous  of  getting  the 
help  and  countenance  of  the  farmers  and  tradef- 
people,  whofe  duty  and  intered  die  thought  it  was 
to  fupport  a  plan  calculated  to  improve  the  virtue 
and  happinefs  of  the  paridi.  Mod  of  them  iub- 
fcribed,  and  promifed  to  lee  that  their  workmen 
fent  their  children.  She  met  with  little  oppodtion 
till  die  called  on  farmer  Hofkins.  She  told  him, 
as  he  was  the  riched  farmer  in  the  paridi,  die 
came  to  him  for  a  handfome  fubfcription.  Sub- 
fcription  !  faid  he  ;  it  is  nothing  but  fubfcrip- 
tions,  I  think  ;  a  man  had  need  be  made  of  mo- 


The  Sunday  School 

ncy.— Farmer,  laid  Mrs.  Jones,  God  has  blelTed 

mu  ak.l'nd‘lnc  prosperity,  and  he  expefts  you 
JhcniLd  be  liberal  in  proportion  to  your  great  abi- 

f  •)  \  1 d°  il0t  <now  what  you  mean  by  bleffing, 

wiVii’r^,  ee"  l!P  earlp  and  late  5 lived  hard 
while  I  had  little;  and  now  when  I  thought  I  had 

got  forward  in  the  world,  what  with  tythes  and 
fl  ,^Ptl°TnS  'C  aII,f?°*s>  I  think.— Mr.  Holkins, 
for  o  1 1  * S  Jon^s>  d‘is  is  but  an  ungrateful  return 
for  ah  your  bleffings.— You/ are  again  at  your 
biddings,  faid  the  farmer,  but  let  every  one  work 
as  hard  as  I  have  done,  and  I  dare  fay  he  will  do 

have  "  lJC  13  t0  mf  °Wn,  induftl7  1  owe  what  I 
have.  My  crops  have  been  good,  becaufe  I 

PlouShlng  and  Sowing. — O,  farmer  ! 
ed  Mis.  Jones,  you  forget  whofe  funs  and 
lowers  made  your  crops  to  grow  ;  but  I  do  not 

P™b’  bf t0  beg— Well,  madam,  what 
‘  ltn°w.  Mannel  or  trench?  or  weavers,  ora 
iiew  cnurch,  or  large  bread,  or  cheap  rice  ?  or 
what  other  new  whim-wham  for  getting  the  mo- 

Tlmt  ofof ’s  pocket  I  am  going  to  eftablifh 
a  Sunday  School,  farmer ;  and  I  am  come  to  you 

as  one  or  the  principal  inhabitants  of  the  parilh, 

hoping  your  example  will  fpUr  on  the  left  to 

give—Why  then,  laid  the  farmer,  as  one  of  the 

pnnc.pal  inhabitants  of  the  parilh,  I  will  give  no- 

W  thereft  to  refufe. 

.  all  the  foohlh  inventions,  and  new-fangled  de¬ 
vices  to  rum  the  country,  that  of  teaching  the 
pool  to  read  is  the  very  word.— And  I,  fanner 
taink  that  to  teach  good  principles  to  the  lower 
c  a  es,  is  the  mod  likely  way  to  five  the  countrv. 

P 


2 1  a.  7he  Sunday  School. 

Now,  in  order  to  this,  we  mull  teach  them  to 
read.— Not  with  my  confent,  nor  my  money,  faid 
the  farmer  ;  for  I  know  it  always  does  moie  harm 
than  good. — So  it  may,  faid  Mrs.  Jones,  if  you 
only  teach  them  to  read,  and  then  turn  them  adrift 
to  find  out  books  ior  themielves  *.  d  here  is  a 
pronenefs  in  the  heart  to  evil,  which  it  is  our  duty 
to  oppofe,  and  which  I  lee  you  are  promoting. 
Only  look  round  your  own  kitchen  I  am  afhamed 
to  fee  it  hung  round  with  loofe  fongs  and  ballads. 
I  grant,  indeed,  it  would  be  better  for  your  men 
and  maids,  and  even  your  daughters,  not  to  be 
able  to  read  at  all  than  to  read  fuch  fluff  as  this. 
But  if,  when  they  afk  for  bread,  you  wifi  give 
them  a  (tone,  nay  worfe,  a  ferpent,  your  s  is  the 
blame.  Then  taking  up  a  penny  book  which  had 
a  very  loofe  title,  fhe  went  on — I  do  not  wonder, 
if  you  who  read  fuch  books  as  thefe,  think  it  lafer 
that  people  fhould  not  read  at  all.  The  farmer 
grinned,  and  faid,  It  is  hard  if  a  man  of  my  fub- 
liance  may  not  divert  myfelf ;  when  a  bit  of  fun 
cofls  only  a  penny,  and  a  man  can  fpare  that 
penny,  there  is  no  harm  done.  When  it  is  very 
hot,  or  very  wet,  and  I  come  in  to  reft,  and  have 
drank  my  mug  of  cider,  I  like  to  take  up  a  bit 
of  a  jeft  book,  or  a  comical  ftory,  to  make  me 

*  It  was  this  confideration  chiefly,  which  ftimulated  the 
conductors  of  the  Cheap  Repofitory  to  fend  forth  that  variety 
of  little  books  fo  peculiarly  fuitable  to  the  young.  They  con- 
jidered,  that  by  means  of  Sunday  Schools,  multitudes  were 
now  taught  to  read  who  would  be  expofed  to  be  corrupted 
by  all  the  ribaldry  and  profanenefs  of  loofe  fongs,  and  vicious 
ftories ;  and  that 'it  was  a  bounden  duty  to  counteract  fuch 

temptations. 


$ 


I 


The  Sunday  School.  3^ § 

laugh  !  O,  Mr.  Hofkins,  replied  Mrs.  Tones 
when  you  come  in  to  reft  from  a  burning  fun  or 
mower,  do  you  never  think  of  him  who fe  fun  it 
is  that  is  ripening  yoUr  corn  ?  or  whofe  fhower 
is  fi  hng  the  ear,  or  caufmg  the  grafs  to  grow  ?  I 
could  tell  you  of  fome  books  which  would 
rengthen  fuch  thoughts,  whereas  fuch  as  you 
lead  only  ierve  to  put  them  out  of  your  head. 
Mrs.  Jones  having  taken  pains  to  let  Mr.  Holkins 
know  that  all  the  genteel  and  wealthy  people  had 
u  fcribed,  he  at  laft  laid.  Why,  as  to  the  matter' 
01  that,  1  do  not  value  a  crown  ;  only  I  think  it 
might  be  better  beftowed,  and  I  am  afraid  my 
own  workmen  will  fly  in  my  face  if  once  they  are 
mat.e  lcholars ;  and  that  they  will  think  them- 
,  s  too  good  to  work.— Now  you  talk  foberly, 
and  give  your  realons,  faid  Mrs.  Jones,  weak  as 
they  are,  they  deferve  an  anfwer.  Do  you  think 
tnat  either  man,  woman,  or  child,  ever  did  his 
duty  the  worfe,  only  becaufe  he  knew  it  the 
better  —No,  perhaps  not.— Now,  the  whole  ex¬ 
tent  of  learning  which  we  intend  to  give  the  poor, 
is  omy  to  enable  them  to  read  the  Bible;  a  book 
which  brings  to  us  the  glad  tidings  of  ialvaiionJ 
in  which  every  duty  is  explained,  every  doftrine 
lougit  into  practice,  and  the  higheft  truths  made 
evel  to  the  meaneft  underftanding.  The  know- 
e  ge  of  that  book,  and  its  practical  influence  on 
,he  heart,  is  the  beft  fccurity  you  can  have,  both 
or  die  mduftry  and  obedience  of  your  fervants. 
Mow  can  you  think  any  man  will  be  the  worfe 
ervant  for  being  a  good  Chriftian  ?— Perhaps 
iot.— Are  not  the  duties  of  children,  of  fervants' 

P  2 


2 !  6  The  Sunday  School. 

and  the  poor,  exptefsly  fet  forth  in  the  Bible  ?  - 

Yes. _ Do  you  think  any  duties  are  likely  to  be 

fo  well  performed  from  any  human  motives.  Inch 
as  fear  or  prudence,  as  from  thefe  religious  mo¬ 
tives,  which  are  backed  with  the  fandtion  of  re¬ 
wards  and  punifhments,  of  heaven  or  hell  ?  Even 
upon  your  own  principles  of  worldly  policy,  do 
you  think  a  poor  man  is  not  lefs  likely  to  ileal  a 
fheep  or  a  horfe,  who  was  taught,  when  a  boy, 
that  it  was  a  fin  to  rob  ahen-rooft  or  an  orchard, 
than  one  who  has  been  bred  in  ignorance  ?  Vv  ill 
your  property  be  fe cured  fo  effe&ually  by  the 
flocks  on  the  green,  as  by  teaching  the  boys  in 
the  fchool,  that  for  all  thcje  things  God  will  bring 
them  into  judgment  ?  Is  a  poor  fellow  who  can  read 
his  Bible,  fo  likely  to  deep  or  to  drink  away  his 
few  hours  of  leifure*,  as  one  who  cannot  read  ?  He 
may,  and  he  often/ does,  make  a  bad  ufe  of  his 
reading,  but  I  doubt  he  would  have  been  as  bad 
without  it.  And  the  hours  fpen.t  in  learning  to 
read  will  always  have  been  among  the  moll  harm- 
ids  ones  of  his  life. 

Well,  madam,  faid  the  farmer,  if  you  do  not 
think  that  religion  will  fpoil  my  young  fervants, 

1  do  not  care  if  you  do  put  me  down  for  half  a 
„uinea.  What  has  farmer  Dobfon  given  ?— Halt 
a  guinea,  faid  Mrs.  Jones.  Well,  cried  the  far¬ 
mer,  it  fhall  never  be  faid  I  do  not  give  more 
than  he,  who  is  only  a  renter.  Dobfon  give  half 
a  guinea  ?  Why  he  wears  his  coat  as  thread-bare 
'as  a  labourer. —Perhaps,  replied  Mrs.  Jones,  that 
Is  one  reafon  why  he  gives  lo  much.  Well,  put 
me  down  a  guinea,  cried  the  farmer  ;  as  fcarce  <-.s 
auineas  are' juft  now,  I’ll  never  be  put  upon  the 

3 


3r7 


The  Sunday  School. 

fame  footing  with  Dobfon  neither.  Yes,  and 
you  mu  ft  exert  yourfelf  befides,  in  infifting  that 
your  workmen  fend  their  children,  and  often  look 
into  the  fchool  yourfelf  to  fee  if  they  are  there, 
and  reward  or  difcourage  them  accordingly,  added 
Mrs.  Jones.  The  mod  zealous  teachers  will  flag 
in  their  exertions,  if  they  are  not  animated  and 
fupported  by  the  wealthy ;  and  your  poor  youth 
will  foon  defpife  religious  inftrudion  as  a  thing 
forced  upon  them,  if  it  be  not  made  pleafant  by 
the  encouraging  pre fence,  kind  words,  and- little 
gratuities  from  their  betters. 

Here  Mrs.  Jones  took  her  leave;  the  farmer 
infilled  on  waiting  on  her  to  the  door.  When 
they  got  into  the  yard,  they  fpied  Mr.  Simp¬ 
lon,  who  was  Handing  near  a  little  group  of 
females,  confiding  of  the  farmer's  two  young 
danghters,  and  a  couple  of  rofy  dairy-maids,  an 
old  blind  fiddler,  and  a  woman  who  led  him* 
The  woman  had  laid  a  bafket  on  the  ground,  out 
of  which  fhe  was  dealing  fome  fongs  to  the  girls* 
who  were  kneeling  round  it,  and  eagerly  picking 
out  fuch  whofe  titles  fuited  their  taftes..  On  fee¬ 
ing  the  clergyman  come  up,  the  fiddler’s  compa¬ 
nion  (for  I  am  forty  to  fay  fhe  was  not  his  wife) 
pufhed  fome  of  the  fongs  to  the  bottom  of  the 
bafket,  turned  round  to  the  company,  and  in  a 
whining  tone  afked  if  they  would  pleafe  to  buy  a 
godly  book.  Mr.  Simpfon  few  through  the  hy- 
pocrify  at  once,  and  inftead  of  making  any  an- 
lvver,  took  out  of  one  of  the  girl’s  hands  a  fong 
which  the  woman  had  not  been  able  to  fnateta 
away.  He  was  fhocked  and  grieved  to  fee  that, 

P  3 


3 i 8  The  Sunday  School . 

thefe  young  girls  were  about  to  read,  to  fing,  and  . 
to  learn  by  heart  fuch  ribaldry  as  he  was  afhamed 
even  to  call  his  eyes  on.  He  turned  about  to  the 
girl,  and  gravely,  but  mildly  laid,  Young  woman, 
what  do  you  think  lhould  be  done  to  a  perion 
who  lhould  be  found  carrying  a  box  of  poifon 
found  the  country,  and  leaving  a  litrle  at  every 
houfe  ?  The  girls  all  agreed,  that  fuch  a  perfon 
ought  to  be  hanged.  That  he  lhould,  faid  the 
farmer,  if  I  was  upon  the  jury,  and  quartered  too. 
The  fiddler  and  his  woman  were  of  the  fame  opi¬ 
nion  5  declaring  they  would  not  do  fuch  a  wicked 
thing  for  the  world,  for  if  they  were  poor  they 
were  honed:.  Mr.  Simpfon,  turning  to  the  other 
girl,  faid.  Which  is  of  moll  value,  the  foul  or  the 
body? — The  foul,  fir,  faid  the  girl. — Why  fo  ? 
faid  he. — Becaufe,  fir,  I  have  heard  you  fay  in 
the  pulpit,  the  foul  is  to  lad:  for  ever. — Then, 
cried  Mr.  Simpfon,  in  a  ftern  voice,  turning  to 
the  fiddler’s  woman,  are  you  not  afhamed  to  fell 
poifon  for  that  part  which  is  to  lad  for  ever  ? 
poifon  for  the  foul  ?  Poifon  !  faid  the  terrified 
girl,  throwing  down  the  book,  and  fhuddering  as 
people  do  who  are  afraid  they  have  touched  fome- 
thing  infectious. —  Poifon  ,!  echoed  the  farmer’s 
daughters,  recollecting  with  horror  the  ratfbane 
which  Lion,  the  old  houfe  dog,  had  got  at  the 
day  before,  and  after  eating  which  fhe  had  feen 
him  drop  down  dead  in  convuldons.  Yes,  faid 
Mr.  Simpfon  to  the  woman,  I  do  again  repeat, 
the  fouls  of  thefe  innocent  girls  will  be  poifoned, 
and  may  be  eternally .  ruined,  by  this  vile  trafh 
which  you  carry  about. 

I  now  fee,  faid  Mrs.  Jones  to  the  farmer,  the 


The  Sunday  School.  319 

reafbn  why  you  think  learning  to  read  does  more 
harm  than  good.  It  is  indeed  far  better  that  they 
fhould  never  know  how  to  tell  a  letter,  unlefs  you 
keep  fuch  trafh  as  this  out  of  their  way,  and  pro¬ 
vide  them  with  what  is  good,  or  at  leafl  what  is 
harmlefs.  Still  this  is  not  the  fault  of  reading, 
but  the  abufe  of  it.  Wine  is  dill  a  good  cordial, 
though  it  is  too  often  abufed  to  the  purpofe  of 
drunkennels. 

The  farmer  laid  that  neither  of  his  maids  could 
read  their  horn- book,  though  he  owned  he  often 
heard  them  Tinging  that  long  which  the  parfon 
had  thought  fo  bad,  but  for  his  part  it  made  him 
as  merry  as  a'nightingale. 

Yes,  faid  Mrs.  Jones,  as  a  proof  that  it  is  not 
merely  being  able  to  read  which  does  the  mil- 
chief,  I  have  often  heard  as  I  have  been  eroding  a 
hay- field,  young  girls  Tinging  fuch  indecent  ri¬ 
baldry  as  has  driven  me  out  of  the  field ;  though 
I  well  knew  they  could  not  read  a  line  of  what 
they  were  Tinging,  but  had  caught  it  from  others. 
So  you  fee  you  may  as  well  fay  the  memory  is  a 
wicked  talent  becaufe  Tome  people  mifapply  it,  as 
to  fay  that  reading  is  dangerous  becaufe  Tome  folks 
abufe  it. 

While  they  were  talking,  the  fiddler  and  his 
woman  were  trying  to  Ileal  away  unobferved,  but 
Mr.  Simpfon  flopped  them,  and  flernly  laid. 
Woman,  I  Jfhall  have  Tome  farther  talk  with  you. 
I  am  a  magiflrate  as  well  as  a  miniller,  and  if  I 
know  it,  I  will  no  more  allow  a  wicked  book  to 
be  fold  in  my  pari  Hi  than  a  dofe  of  poifon.  The 
girls  threw  away  all  their  Tongs,  thanked  Mr* 

P  4 


I 


\ 


3 20  "  The  Sunday  School . 

Simpfon,  begged  Mrs.  Jones  would  take  them 
into  her  fchool  after  they,  had  done  milking  in  the 
evenings,  that  they  might  learn  to  read  only  what 
was  proper.  .  They  promifed  they  would  never 
mope  deal  with  any  but  fober,  honeft  hawkers, 
iuen  as  fell  good  little  books,  Chriftmas  carols, 
and  harm iefs  longs,  and  defired  the  fiddler’s  wo¬ 
man  never  to  call  there  again. 

•  Tins  little  incident  afterwards  confirmed  Mrs. 
Jones  in  a  plan  fhe  had  before  fome  thoughts  of 
putting  in  practice.  This  was,  after  her  fchool 
had  been  eftablifhed  a  few  months,  to  invite  all 
the  well-difpofed  grown  up  youth  of  the  parifh. 
to  meet  her  at  the  fchool  an  hour  or  two  on  a 
Sunday  evening,  after  the  neceflary  bufinefs  of 
the  dairy,  and  of  ferving  the  cattle  was  over. 
Both  Mrs..  Jones  and  her  agent  had  the  talent  of 
making  this  time  pafs  fo  agreeably  by  their  man¬ 
ner  of  explaining  feripture,  and  of  imprefling  the 
heart  by  ferious  and  affectionate  difeourfe,  that  in 
a  fhort  time  the  evening  fchool  was  nearly  filled 
with  a .  fecond  company,  after  the  younger  ones 
were  difmiffed.  In  time,  not  only  the  fervants, 
but  the  ions  and  daughters  of  the  moil  fubftantial 
people  in  the  parifh  attended.  At  length  many 
of  the  parents,  pleafed  with  the  improvement  fo 
vifible  in  the  young  people,  got  a  habit  of  drop¬ 
ping  in,  that  they  might  learn  how  to  inftrudl 
their  own  families.  And  it  was  obferved  that  as 
the  fchool  filled,  not  only  the  fives-cour-t,  and 
public  houfe  were  thinned,  but  even  Sunday  gof- 
fiping  and  tea  vifiting  declined.  Even  Farmer 
Hofkins,  who  was  at  firft  angry  with  his  maids 
for  leaving  off  thofe  merry  longs,  (as  he  called 


The  Sunday  School .  321 

them),  wus  To  pleafed  by  the  manner  in  which 
the  pfalms  were  fung  at  the  fchool,  that  he  pro- 
mifed  Mrs.  Jones  to  make  her  a  prefent  of  half 
a  Iheep  towards  her  firft  May-day  fe alh.>  Of  this 
feaft  fome  account  {hall  be  given  hereafter  y  aad 
the  reader  may  expect  fome  further  account  of 
the  Sunday  School  next  month  in  the  hiftory  ofJ 
Heller  Wilmot, 


V 


THE  HISTORY  OF 

HESTER  WILMOT; 


OR,  THE 

SECOND  PART  of  the  SUNDAY  SCHOOL, 


HESTER  WILMOT  was  born  in  the  parifh 
of  Wefton,  of  parents  who  maintained  themielves 
by  their  labour  j  they  were  both  of  them  ungodly, 
it  is  no  wonder  therefore  they  v/ere  unhappy. 
They  lived  badly  together,  and  how  could  they  do 
ctherwife,  for  their  tempers  were  very  different, 
and  they  had  no  religion  to  fmooth  down  this  dif¬ 
ference,  or  to  teach  them  that  they  ought  to  bear 
with  each  other’s  faults.  Rebecca  Wilmot  was  a 
proof  that  people  may  have  fome  right  qualities, 
and  yet  be  but  bad  charadters,  and  utterly  defti- 
tute  of  religion.  She  was  clean,  notable,  and  in- 
duftrious.  Now  I  know  fome  folks  fancy  that  the 
poor  who  have  thefe  qualities  need  have  no  other, 
but  this  is  a  fad  miffake,  as  I  am  lure  every  page 
in  the  Bible  would  ihew  ;  and  it  is  a  pity  people 
do  not  confult  it  oftener.  They  diredt  their  plow¬ 
ing  and  lowing  by  the  Almanack,  why  will  they 
not  confult  the  Bible  for  the  diredtion  of  their 
hearts  and  lives  ?  Rebecca  was  of  a  violent,  un¬ 
governable  temper ;  and  that  very  neatnefs  which 


The  Hifiory  of  Hefter  JVilmot.  3  23 

is  in  itfellTo  pleafing,  in  her  became  a  fin,  for  her  - 
affedtion  to  her  hufband  and  children  was  quite 
loft  in  an  over-anxious  defire  to  have  her  houfe 
reckoned  the  niceft  in  the  parifh.  Rebecca  was 
alfo  a  proof  that  a  poor  woman  may  be  as  vain  as 
a  rich  one,  for  it  was  not  fo  much  the  comfort  of 
neatnefs,  as  the  praife  of  neatnefs,  which  fhe  co¬ 
veted.  A  fpot  on  her  hearth,  or  a  bit  of  ruft  on  a 
brafs  candleftick,  would  throw  her  into  a  violent 
paftion.  Now  it  is  very  right  to  keep  the  hearth 
clean  and  the  candleftick  bright,  but  it  is  very 
wrong  fo  to  fet  one's  aftedlions  on  a  hearth,  or  a 
candleftick,  as  to  make  one’s  felf  unhappy  if  any 
trifling  accident  happens  to  them  :  and  if  Rebecca  . 
had  been  as  careful  to  keep  her  heart  without  fpot,  . 
or  her  life  without  blemifh,  as  Are  was  to  keep 
her  fire-irons  free  from  either,  fire  would  have 
been  held  up  in  this  hiftory,  not  as  a  warn¬ 
ing,  but.  a  pattern,  and  in  that  cafe  her  nicety 
would  have  come  in  for  a  part  of  the  praife.  It 
was  no  fault  in  Rebecca,  but  a  merit,  that  her 
oak  table  was  fo  bright  you  could  alrnoft  fee  to  » 
put  your  cap  on  in  it ;  but  it  was  no  merit  but  a 
fault,  that  when  John,  her  hufband,  laid  down  his. 
cup  of  beer  upon  it  fo  as  to  leave  a  mark,  Hie 
would  fly  out  into  fo  terrible  a  paflion  that  all  the 
children  were  forced  to  run  to  corners ;  now  poor 
John  having  no  corner  to  run  to,  ran  to  the  ale- 
houfe,  till  that  which  was  at  firft  a  refuge,  too 
foon  became  a  pleafure. 

Rebecca  never  wifhed  her  children  to  learn  to 
read,  becaufe  fhe  laid  it  only  ferved  to  make 
them  lazy,  and  fhe  herfelf  had  done  very  well 

P  6 


3  24  The  Hiflory  of  Refer  Wilmot. 

without  it.  She  would  keep  poor  Heller  from 
church  to  flone  the  fpace  under  the  chairs  in  fine 
patterns  and  whim-whams.  I  don’t  pretend  to  fay 
there  was  any  harm  in  this  little  decoration  ;  it 
looks  pretty  enough,  and  it  is  better  to  let  the 
children  do  that  than  do  nothing.  But  ftill  thefe 
are  not  things  to  let  one’s  heart  upon,  and  befides 
Rebecca  only  did  it  as  a  trap  for  praife  ;  for  fhe 
was  fulky  and  difappointed  if  any  ladies  happened 
to  call  in  and  did  not  feem  delighted  with  the 
flowers  which  ihe  ufed  to  draw  with  a  burnt  flick 
on  the  white  wafh  of  the  chimney  corners.  Be¬ 
fides,  all  this  finery  was  often  done  on  a  Sunday, 
and  there  is  a  great  deal  of  harm  in  doing  right 
things  at  a  wrong  time,  or  in  wafting  much  time 
on  things  which  are  of  no  real  life,  or  in  doing 
any  thing  at  all  out  of  vanity.  Now  I  beg  that 
no  lazy  ftattern  of  a  wife  will  go  and  take  any  com  ¬ 
fort  in  her  dirt  from  what  is  here  faid  againft  Re¬ 
becca’s  nicety  ;  for  I  believe,  that  for  one  who 
makes  her  hufband  unhappy  through  neatnefs, 
twenty  do  fo  by  dirt  and  lazinefs.  All  exceftes 
are  wrong,  but  the  excefs  of  a  good  quality  is  not 
fo  common  as  the  excefs  of  a  bad  one. 

John  Wilmot  was  not  an  ill-natured  man,  but 
he  had  no  fixed  principle.  Inftead  of  fetting  him- 
felf  to  cure  his  wife’s  faults  by  mild  reproof  and  a 
good  example,  he  was  driven  by  diem  into  flill 
greater  faults  himfelf.  It  is  a  common-  cafe  with 
people  ivho  have  no  religion  when  any  crofs  ac¬ 
cident  befals  them,  inftead  of  trying  to  make  the 
befl  of  a  bad  matter,  inftead  of  confidering  their 
trouble  as  a  trial  fent  from  God  to  purify  them, 
■or  inftead  of  confidering  the  faults  of  others  as  a 


The  Hi  ft  or y  of  Hefler  Wilmot .  3  23 

punifhment  for  their  own  fins,  what  do  they  do 
but  either  fink  down  at  once  into  defpair,  or xlk  v 
run  for  comfort  into  evil  courfes.  Drinkino-  is 
the  common  remedy  for  forrow,  if  that  can  be 
called  a  remedy>  the  end  of  which  is  to  deftroy 
foul  and  body.  John  now  began  to  fpend  all  his 
leifure  hours  at  the  Bell.  He  ufed  to  be  fond. of 
his  children,  but  when  he  could  not  come  home  in 
quiet,  and  play  with  the  little  ones,  while  his  wife 
d  re  bed  him  a  bit  of  hot  fupper,  he  grew  in  time 
not  to  come  at  all.  He  who  has  once  taken  to 
drink,  can  feldom  be  faid  to  be  guilty  of  one  fin 
only.  John’s  heart  became  hardened  ;  his  affec¬ 
tion  for  his  family  was  loft  in  lelf-indulgence. 
Patience  and  fub million,  on  the  part  of  his  wife, 
might  have  won  much  upon  a  man  of  John’s  tem¬ 
per  ;  but  inftead  of  trying  to  reclaim  him,  his  wife 
leemed  rather  to  delight  in  putting  him  as  much 
in  the  wrong  as  fhe  could,  that  fhe  might  be  jufti- 
fied  in  her  conftant  abufe  of  him.  I  doubt  whe¬ 
ther  fhe  would  have  been  as  much  pleafed  with 
his  reformation  as  fhe  was  with  always  talking  of 
his  faults,  though  I  know  it  was  the  opinion  of° the 
neighbours,  that  if  fhe  had  taken  as  much  pains 
to  reform  her  hufband  by  reforming  her  own  tem¬ 
per,  as  fhe  did  to  abufe  him  and  expofe  him,  her 
endeavours  might  have  been  blefted  with  fuccefs. 
Good  chriftians,  who  are  trying  to  fub  due  their 
own  faults,  can  hardly  believe  that  the  ungodly 
have  a  fort  of  favage  fatisfadlion  in  trying-,  by 
indulgence  of  their  own  evil  tempers,  to  "leffen 
tne  happinefs  of  thofe  with  whom  they  have  to  do. 
Need  we  look  any  farther  for  a  proof  of  our  own. 
corrupt  nature,  when  we  fee  mankind  delight  in 


326  Ihe  Hifk or y  of  Hefter  Wilmot. 

fins  which  have  neither  the  temptation  of  profit 
or  pleafure,  fuch  as  plaguing,  vexing,  or  abufing 
each  other, 

Hefter  was  the  eldeft  of  their  five  children,  fhe 
was  a  fharp,  .fenfible  girl;  but  at  fourteen  years 
old,  fhe  could  not  tell  a  letter,  nor  had  fhe  ever 
been  taught  to  bow  her  knee  to  him  who  made  , 
her,  for  John's,  or  rather  Rebecca’s  houfe,  had 
feldom  the  name  of  God  pronounced  in  it,  except 
to  be  blafphemed. 

It  was  juft  about  this  time,  if  I  mi  (lake  not, 
that  Mrs.  Jones  fet  up  her  Sunday  School,  of 
which  Mrs.  Betty  Crew  was  appointed  miftrefs, 
as  was  related  laft  month.  Mrs.  Jones  finding 
that  none  of  the  Wilmots  were  fent  to  fchool, 
took  a  walk  to  Rebecca’s  houfe,  and  civilly  told 
her  lhe  called  to  let  her  know  that  a  fchool  was 
opened,-  to  which  (he  defired  her  to  lend  her 
children  on  the  Sunday  following,  efpecially  her 
eldeft  daughter  Hefter.  Well,  laid  Rebecca,  and 
what  will  you  give  her  if  I  do  ?  Give  her  !  re¬ 
plied  Mrs.  J  ones,  that  is  rather  a  rude  queftion, 
and  a.fked  in  a  rude  manner :  however,  as  a  loft 
anfwer  turneth  away  wrath,  I  afture  you  that  I  will 
give  her  the  beft  of  learning ;  I  will  teach  her  to 
fear  God  and  keep  his  commandments .  I  would 
rather  you  would  teach  her  to  fear  me,  and  to 
keep  my  houfe  clean,  faid  this  wicked  woman.— 
She  (han’t  come,  however,  unlefs  you  will  pay  her 
for  it.  Pay  her  for  it  I  laid  the  lady,  will  it  not 
be  reward  enough  that  fhe  will  be  taught  to  read 
the  word  of  God  without  any  expence  to  you  ? 
For  though  many  gifts  both  of  books  and  cloath- 


The  Hiftory  of  Heft er  TVilmot.  ftiy 

ing  will  be  given  the  children,  yet  you  are  not  to 
conlider  thefe  gifts  in  the  light  of  payment  as  an 
expreflion  of  goodwill  in  your  benefactors.  I  fay, 
interrupted  Rebecca,  that  Heller  {han’t  go  to 
fchool.  Religion  is  of  no  ufe  that  I  know  of  but 
to  make  people  hate  their  own  flefh  and  blood  ; 
and  I  fee  no  good  in  learning  but  to  make  folks 
proud,  and  lazy,  and  dirty.  I  cannot  tell  a  letter 
myfelf,  and,  though  I  fay  it,  that  fhould  not  fay  it, 
there  is  not  a  notabler  woman  in  the  parifh.— - 
Pray,  faid  Mrs.  Jones,  mildly,  do  you  think  that 
young  people  will  difobey  their  parents  the  more 
for  being  taught  to  fear  God  !  I  don’t  think  any 
thing  about  it,  faid  Rebecca ;  I  {han’t  let  her 
come,  and  there’s  the  long  and  {hort  of  the  mat¬ 
ter.  Heller  has  other  fifh  to  fry;  but  you  may 
have  fome  of  thefe  little  ones  if  you  will.  No, 
faid  Mrs.  Jones,  I  will  not;  I  have  not  fet  up  a 
nurfery  but  a  fchool.  I  am  not  at  ail  this  expence 
to  take  crying  babes  out  of  the  mother’s  way,  but 
to  inflruCl  reafonable  beings  in  the  way  to  eter¬ 
nal  life ;  and  it  ought  to  be  a  rule  in  all  fchools,  not 
to  take  the  troublefome  young  children  unlefs  the 
mother  will  try  to  fpare  the  elder  ones,  who  are 
capable  of  learning.  But,  faid  Rebecca,  I  have 
a  young  child  which  Heller  mull  nurfe  while  I 
drefs  dinner.  And  fhe  mull  iron  the  rags,  and 
fcour  the  irons,  and  dig  the  potatoes,  and  fetch 
the  water  to  boil  them.  As  to  nurfing  the  child, 
that  is  indeed  a  neceffary  duty,  and  Heller  ought 
to  flay  at  home  part  of  the  day  to  enable  you  to 
go  to  church ;  and  families  fhould  relieve  each 
other  in  this  way,  but  as  to  all  the  reft  they  are  no 
reafons  at  all,  for  the  irons  need  not  be  fcoured  fo 


3  2  £  The  Hijlory  of  Hefter  TVilnm . 

often,  and  the  rags  ffiould  be  ironed,  and  the  po¬ 
tatoes  dug,  and  the  water  fetched  on  the  Saturday, 
and  I  can  tell  you  that  neither  your  minifter  here, 
nor  your  judge  hereafter,  will  accept  of  any  fuch 
excufes. 

All  this  while  Hefter  {laid  behind,  pale  and 
trembling,  left  her  unkind  mother  fhould  carry 
her  point.  She  looked  up  at  Mrs.  Jones  with  fo 
much  love  and  gratitude  as  to  win  her  aftedtion, 
and  this  good  lady  went  on  trying  to  foften  this 
harfh  mother.  At  laft  Rebecca  condefcended  to 
.  fay.  Well,  I  don’t  know  but  I  may  let  her  come 
now  and  then  when  I  can  fpare  her,  provided  I 
find  you  make  it  worth  her  while.  All  this  time 

V 

fhe  had  never  afkecl  Mrs.  Jones  to  fit  down,  nor 
had  once  bid  her  young  children  be  quiet,  though 
they  v/ere  crying  and  fquailing  the  whole  time. 
Rebecca  fancied  this  rudenefs  was  the  only  way 
fhe  had  of  fhewing  fhe  thought  herfelf  as  good 
as  her  gueft,  but  Mrs.  Jones  never  loft  her  tem¬ 
per..  The  moment  fhe  went  out  of  the  houfe, 
Rebecca  called  out  loud  enough  for  her -to  hear, 
and  ordered  Hefter  to  get  the  ftone  and  a  bit  of 
fand  to  ferub  out  the  prints,  of  that  dirty,  woman’s 
fhoes.  Hefter  in  high  fpirits  chearfully  obeyed, 
and  rubbed  out  the  ftains  fo  neatly,  that  her  mo¬ 
ther  could  not  help  lamenting  that  fo  handy  a  girl 
was  going  to  be  fpoiledby.  being  taught  gpdlinefs, 
and  learning,  and  fuebmonfenfe. 

Mrs..  Jones,  who  knew  the  world,  told  her 
agent,  Mrs.  Crew,  that  her  grand  difficulty  would 
arife  not  fo  much  from  the  children  as  the  parents. 
Thefc,.  faid  fhe,  are  apt  to  fall  into  that  fad  mif- 
take,,  that  becaufe  their  children  are  poor  and 


The  Hiftory  of  Heft er  Wilmot .  329 

have  little  of  this  world’s  goods,  the  mothers 
mud:  make  it  up  to  them  in  falfe  indulgence. — 
The  children  of  the  gentry  are  much  more  re¬ 
proved  and  corrected  for  their  faults,  and  bred 
up  in  far  finder  difcipline.  He  was  a  king  who 
faid,  chaften  thy  fon>  and  let  not  thy  rod  ftp  are  for 
his  crying.  But  do  not  lofe  your  patience  ;  the 
more  vicious  the  children  are,  you  mud:  remem¬ 
ber  the  more  they  ftand  in  need  of  your  infiruc- 
tion.  When  they  are  bad,  comfort  yourfelf  with 
thinking,  how  much  worfe  they  would  have  been 
but  for  you  ;  and  what  a  burthen  they  would  be¬ 
come  to  fociety  if  thefe  evil  tempers  were  to  .re¬ 
ceive  no  check.  The  great  thing  which  enabled 
Mrs.  Crew  to  teach  well,  was  the  deep  infight  fhe 
had  got  into  the  corruption  of  human  nature.— 
And  I  doubt  if  any  one  can  make  a  thoroughly 
good  teacher  of  religion  and  morals  who  wants 
this  mafter-key  to  the  heart.  Others  indeed  may 
teach  knowledge,  decency,  and  good  manners ; 
but  thole,  however  valuable,  are  not  Chriftianity. 
Mrs.  Crew,  who  knew  that  out  of  the  heart  pro¬ 
ceed  lying,  theft,  and  all  that  train  of  evils  which 
begin  to  break  out  even  in  young  children,  applied 
her  labours  to  correct  this  root  of  evil.  But 
though  a  diligent,  fhe  was  an  humble  teacher,  well 
knowing  that  unlefs  the  grace  of  God  blefied  her 
labours,  die  fhould  but  labour  in  vain. 

Heller  Wilmot  never  failed  to  attend  the 
fchool,  whenever  her  perverfe  mother  would  give 
her  leave,  and  her  delight  in  learning  was  fo  great, 
that  fhe  would  work  early  and  late  to  gain  a  little 
time  for  her  book.  As  fine  had  a  quick  capacity, 
fhe  learned  foon  to  fpetf  and  read,  and  Mrs.  Crew 


3 jo  The  Hifiory  of  Hefter  Wilmot . 

obferving  her  diligence,  ufed  to  lend  her  a  book 
to  carry  home,  that  fhe  might  pick  up  a  little  at 
odd  times.  It  would  be  well  if  teachers  would 
.make  this  diftinction.  To  give,  or  lend  books  to 
thofe  who  take  no  delight  in  them  is  an  ufelefs  ex¬ 
pence  ;  while  it  is  kind  and  right  to  aftift  well- 
difpofed  young  people  with  every  help  of  this 
fort.  Thofe  who  love  books  feldom  hurt  them, 
while  the  flothful,  who  hate  learning,  will  wear 
out  a  book  more  in  a  week  than  the  diligent  will 
do  in  a  year.  Hefter’s  way  was  to  read  over  one 
queilion  in  her  catechifm,  or  one  verfe  in  her 
hymn  book,  by  fire  light  before  fhe  went  to  bed  ; 
this  fhe  thought  over  in  the  night ;  and  when  fhe 
was  dreffing  herfelf  in  the  morning  fhe  was  glad 
to  find  fhe  always  knew  a  little  more  than -fhe  had 
,done  the  morning  before.  It  is  not  to  be  believed 
how  much  thofe  people  will  be  found  to  have 
gained  at  the  end  of  the  year,  who  are  accuftomed 
to  work  up  all  the  little  odd  ends  and  remnants  of 
leifure  ;  who  value  time  even  more  than  money ; 
and  who  are  convinced  that  minutes  are  no  more 
to  be  wafted  than  pence.  Nay,  he  who  finds  he 
has  wafted  a  (billing  may  by  diligence  hope  to 
fetch  it  up  again  ;  but  no  repentance,  or  induftry, 
.  can  ever  bring  back  one  wafted  hour.  My  good 
young  reader,  if  ever  you  are  tempted  to  wafte 
an  hour,  go  and  ,afk  a  dying  man  what  he  would 
give  for  that  hour  which  you  are  throwing  away, 
and  according  as  he  anlwers,  fo  do  you  abb. 

As  her  mother  hated  the  fight  of  a  book,  Hef¬ 
ter  was  forced  to  learn  out  of  light :  it  was  no 
dilobedience  to  do  this,  as  long  as  fhe  wafted  no 
part  of  that  time  which  it  was  her  duty  to  fpend 


The  Hiftory  of  Heft er  Wihnot,  331 

in  life ful  labour.  She  would  have  thought  it  a 
Tin  to  have  left  her  work  for  her  book  ;  but  fhe 
did  not  think  it  wrong  to  ileal  time  from  her 
deep,  and  to  be  learning  an  hour  before  the  reft 
of  the  family  were  awake.  Hefter  would  not 
negleft  the  wafhing-tub,  or  the  fpinning-wheel, 
even  to  get  on  with  her  catechifm;  but  fhe 
thought  it  fair  to  think  over  her  queftions,  while 
flie  was  waihing  and  fpinning.  In  a  few  months 
fhe  was  able  to  read  fluently  in  St.  John’s  gofpel, 
which  is  the  eafleft.  But  Mrs.  Crew  did  not 
think  it  enough  that  her  children  could  read  a 
chapter,  fhe  would  make  them  underftand  it  alfo. 
It  is  in  a  good  degree  owing  to  the  want  of  reli¬ 
gious  knowledge  in  teachers,  that  there  is  fo  little 
religion  in  the  world.  Unlels  the  Bible  is  laid 
open  to  the  underftanding,  children  may  read 
from  Genefis'to  the  Revelation,  without  any  other 
improvement  than  barely  learning  how  to  pro¬ 
nounce  the  words.  Mrs.  Crew  found  there  was 
but  one  way  to  compel  their  attention  ;  this  was 
by  obliging  them  to  return  back  again  to  her  the 
fenfe  of  what  fhe  had  read  to  them,  and  this  they 
might  do  in  their  own  words,  if  they  could  not 
remember  the  words  of  fcripture.  Thofe  who 
had  weak  capacities  would,  to  be  fure,  .do  this 
but  very  imperfectly ;  but  even  the  weakeft,  if 
they  were  willing,  would  retain  fomething.  She 
fo  managed,  that  faying  the  Catechifm  was  not 
merely  an  aft  of  the  memory,  but  of  the  under¬ 
ftanding;  for  fhe  had  obferved  formerly,  that 
thofe  who  had  learned  the  Catechifm  in  the  com¬ 
mon  formal  way,  when  they  were  children,  had 
never  underftood  it  when  they  became  men  and 


« 


33‘2  The  Hiftory  of  Heft er  JJllmot. 

women,  and  it  remained  in  the  memory  withbut 
having  made  any  impreffion  on  the  mind.  Thus 
this  fine  lummary  of  the  chriftian  religion  is  corl- 
fidered  as  little  more  than  a  form  of  words.,  the 
being  able  to  repeat  which  is  a  qualification  for 
being  confirmed  by  the  bifhop,  in  head  of  being 
confidered  as  really  containing  thofe  grounds  of 
chriftian  faith  and  practice,  by  which  they  are  to 
'  be  confirmed  chriftians. 

- 

Mrs.  Crew  ufed  to  fay  to  Mrs.  Jones,  Thofe 
who  teach  the  poor  muft  indeed  give  line  upon 
line,  precept  upon  precept,  here  a  little  and  there 
a  little,  as  they  can  receive  it.  So  that  teaching 
muff  be  a  great  grievance  to  thofe  who  do  not 
really  make  it  a  labour  of  love.  I  fee  fo  much  - 
levity,  obftinacy,  and  ignorance,  that  it  keeps  my 
own  forbearance  in  continual  exercife,  fo  that  I 
•  truft  that  I  am  getting  good  myfelf  while  Lam 
doing  good  to  others.  No  one.  Madam,  can 
know  till  they  try,  that  after  they  have  afked  a 
poor  untaught  child  the  fame  queflion  nineteen 
times,  they  muft  not  lofe  their  temper,  but  go  on 
andafk  it  the  twentieth.  Nowand  then,  when  I 
am  tempted  to  be  impatient,  I  correct  myfelf,  by 
thinking  over  that  ahtive  proof  which  our  bleiTed 
Saviour  requires  of  our  love  to  him  when  he  fays, 

“  Feed  my  lambs  F 

Hefter  Wilmot  had  never  been  bred  to  go  to 
church,  for  her  father  and  mother  had  never 
thought  of  going  themfelves,  unlefs  at  a  chriften- 
ing  in  their  own  family,  or  at  a  funeral  of  their 
neighbours,  both  of  •which  they  confidered  merely 
as  opportunites  for  good  eating  and  drinking,  and 
not  as  oiHces  of  religion. 


The  liift  ory  of  Refer  JVihnct.  333 

As  poor  Heder  had  no  comfort  at  home,  it 
was  the  iefs  wonder  die  delighted  in  her  fchool, 
her  Bible,  and  church,  for  fo  great  is  God's  good- 
nefs,  that  he  is  pleafed  to  make  religion  a  peculiar 
comfort  to  thole  who  have  no  other  comfort.— 
The  God  whofe  name  fhe  had  fcldom  heard  but 
■when  it  was  taken  in  vain,  was  now  revealed  to 
her  as  a  God  of  infinite  power,  judice,  and  holi- 
nefs.  What  fhe  read  in  her  Bible,  and  what  floe 
felt  in  her  own  heart,  Convinced  her  fhe  was  a 
dinner ;  and  her  catechifm  faid  the  fame.  She 
was  much  diftredfed  one  day  on  thinking  over  this 
promife  which  fhe  had  jud  made,  (in  anfwer  to 
the  quedion  which  fell  to  her  lot)  “  To  renounce 
the  devil  and  all  his  works,  the  pomps  and  vanities 
of  this  wicked  world,  and  all  the  finful  luds  of 
the  fiefhf’  I  fay  die  was  didreffed  on  finding 
that  thefe  were  not  merely  certain  words  which 
die  was  bound  to  repeat  5  but-  certain  conditions 
which  die  was  bound  to  perform.  She  was  fadly 
puzzled  to  know  how  this  was  to  be  done,  till  fhe 
met  with  thefe  words  in  her  Bible  :  My  grace  is 
Jujfcient  for  thee .  But  dill  fhe  was  at  a  lofs  to 
know  how  this  grace  was  to  be  obtained.  Hap¬ 
pily  Mr.  Simpfon  preached  on  the  next  Sunday 
from  this  text,  £C  Aft  and  ye  Jhall  have  ft  &c. — 
In  this  fermon  was  explained  to  her  the  nature, 
the  duty,  and  the  efficacy  of  prayer.  After  this 
die  opened  her  heart  to  Mrs.  Crew,  who  taught  her 
the  great  dodlrines  of  Scripture,  in  a  ferious,  but 
plain  way.  Heder’s  own  heart  led  her  to  affent 
to  that  humbling  dobfrine  of  the  catechifm,  that 
<c  JVe  are  by  nature  born  in  fin  ft  and  truly  glad 
was  die  to  be.  relieved  by  hearing  of  £C  Thatjpi- 


334  7#*  Hiftoty  of  Hefier  JVilmot . 

ritual  grace  by  which  we  have  a  new  birth  unto 
right eoufnejs.”  Thus  her  mind  was  no  fooner 
humbled  by  one  part,  than  it  gained  comfort 
from  another.  On  the  other  hand,  while  Ihe  was 
rejoicing  in  cc  A  lively  hope  in  God's  mercy  through 
Chriftfi  her  miftrefs  put  her  in  mind  that,  that 
was  the  only  true  repentance,  “  By  which  we 
forjake  fin  A  Thus  the  catechifm  explained  by  a 
pious  teacher  was  found  to  contain  cc  All  the  arti¬ 
cles  of  the  chriftian  faith .” 

Mrs.  Jones  greatly  difapproved  the  practice  of 
turning  away  the  lcholars  becaufe  they  were  grown 
tip.  Young  people,  laid  fhe,  want  to  be  warned 
at  fixteen  more  than  they  did  at  fix,  and  they  are 
commonly  turned  adrift  at  the  very  age  when  they 
want  molt  inftrudtion  ;  when  dangers  and  tempta¬ 
tions  moil  befet  them.  They  are  expofed  to 
more  evil  by  the  leifure  of  a  Sunday  evening, 
than  by  the  bufinefs  of  a  whole  week :  but  then 
religion  mull  be  made  pleafant,  and  inftrudtion  * 
muft  be  carried  on  in  a  kind,  and  agreeable,  and 
familiar  way.  If  they  once  diflike  the  teacher 
they  will  foon  get  to  diflike  what  is  taught,  fo  that 
a  mailer  or  miftrefs  is  in  fome  meafure  anfwer- 
able  for  the  future  piety  of  young  perfons,  inas¬ 
much  as  that  piety  depends  on  their  manner  of 
making  religion  pleafant  as  well  as  profitable. — - 
To  attend  Mrs.  Jones's  evening  inftru&ions  was 
foon  thought  not  a  talk  but  a  holiday.  In  a  few 
months  it  was  reckoned  a  disadvantage  to  the 
character  of  any  young  perfon  in  the  parifh  to 
know  they  did  not  attend  the  evening  School. — 
At  firft,  indeed,  many  of  them  came  only  with  a 
view  to  learn  to  fing  pfalms  \  but,  by  the  blefting 


The  Hiftory  of  Hefter  TVilmot.  335 

of  God,  they  grew  fond  of  inftrudtion,  and  fome 
of  them  became  truly  pious.  Mrs.  Jones  fpoke 
to  them  one  Sunday  evening  as  follows : — (<  My 
dear  young  women,  I  rejoice  at  your  improve¬ 
ment  ;  but  I  rejoice  with  trembling.  I  have 
known  young  people  fet  out  well,  who  afterwards 
fell  off.  The  heart  is  deceitful.  Many  like  re¬ 
ligious  knowledge,  who  do  not  like  the  ftridtnefs  of 
a  religious  life.  I  mull  therefore  watch  whether 
thofe  who  are  diligent  at  church  and  fchool  are 
diligent  in  their  daily  walk.  Whether  thofe  who 
fay  they  believe  in  God,  really  obey  him.— 
Whether  they  who  profefs  to  love  Chrift  keep 
his  commandments.  Thofe  who  hear  them- 
felves  commended  for  early  piety,  may  learn  to 
reft  fatisfied  with  the  praife  of  man. — People 
may  get  a  knack  at  religious  phrafes  without 
being  religious ;  they  may  even  get  to  frequent 
places  of  worfhip  as  an  amufement,  in  or¬ 
der  to  meet  their  friends,  and  may  learn  to  delight 
in  a  fort  of fpiritual  goJJip ,  while  religion  has  no 
power  in  their  hearts.  But  I  hope  better  things 
of  you,  and  things  that  accompany  falvation, 
though  I  thus  {peak.” 

What  became  of  Hefter  Wilmot,  with  fome 
account  of  Mrs.  Jones’s  May-day  feaft  for  her 
fchool,  my  readers  ihall  be  told  next  month. 

Z, 


33& 


The  Hiftory  of  Hejier  JVilmt. 

V  <  \ 

PART  II. 

THE  NEW  GOWN. 

tlESTER  WILMOT,  I  am  forry  to  obferve,  * 
had  been  by  nature  peevifh  and  lazy  ;  fhe  would, 
when  a  child,  now  and  then  flight  her  work,  and 
when  her  mother  was  very  unreafonable  fine  was 
too  apt  to  return  her  a  faucy  anfwer,  but  when  fhe 
became  acquainted  with  her  own  heart,  and  with 
the  Scriptures,  thefe  evil  tempers  were,  in  a  good 
mealure,  fubdued,  for  fhe  now  learnt  to  imitate, 
not  her  violent  mother,  but  him  who  was  meek  and 
lowly.  When  fhe  was  fcolded  for  doing  ill,  fhe 
prayed  for  grace  to  do  better ;  and  the  only  an¬ 
fwer  file  made  to  her  mother’s  charge,  <c  that  re¬ 
ligion  only  ferved  to  make  people  lazy,”  was  to 
drive  to  do  twice  as  much  work,  in  order  to 
prove  that  it  really  made  them  diligent.  The 
only  thing  in  which  fhe  ventured  to  difobey  her 
mother  was,  that  when  fhe  ordered  her  to  do  week 
days  work  on  a  Sunday,  Heller  cried,  and  laid, 
fhe  did  not  dare  difobey  God,  but  to  fhow  that 
fne  did  notwifh  to  fave  her  own  labour,  ihe  would 
do  a  double  portion  of  work  on  the  Saturday 
night,  and  rife  two  hours  earlier  on  the  Monday 
morning. 

Once,  when  fhe  had  worked  very  'hard,  her 
mother  told  her  floe  would  treat  her  with  a  holi¬ 
day  the  following  fabbath,  and  take  her  a  fine  walk 
to  eat  cakes  and  drink  ale,  at  Weflon  fair,  which, 
though  it  was  profeffed  to  be  kept  on  the  Mon¬ 
day,  yet,  to  the  difgrace  of  the  village,  always 


The  Uifiory  of  Hefter  TVilmot.  337 

began  on  the  Sunday  evening*.  Rebecca,  who 
would  on  no  account  have  wafted  the  Monday, 
which  was  a  working  day,  in  idlenefs  and  pleafure, 
thought  fhe  had  a  very  good  right  to  enjoy  herfelf 
at  the  fair  on  the  Sunday  evening,  as  well  as  to 
take  her  children.  Hefter  earneftly  begged  to 
be  left  at  home,  and  her  mother,  in  a  rage,  went 
without  her.  A  wet  walk,  and  more  ale  than  fhe 
was  ufed  to  drink,  gave  Rebecca  a  dangerous 
fever >  during  this  illnefs,  Hefter,  who  would  not 
follow  her  to  a  feene  of  diffolute  mirth,  attended 
her  night  and  day,  and  denied  herfelf  neceffaries 
that  her  Tick  mother  might  have  comforts.  And 
though  fhe  fecretly  prayed  to  God  that  this  lick- 
nefs  might  change  her  mothers  heart,  yet  fhe  never 
once  reproached  her,  or  put  her  in  mind,  that  it 
was  caught  by  indulging  in  a  finful  pleafure. — ■ 
Another  Sunday  night  her  father  told  Hefter,  he 
thought  fhe  had  now  been  at  fchool  long  enough 
1  for  him  to  have  a  little  good  of  her  learning,  fb 
he  defired  fhe  would  ftay  at  home  arid  read  to 
him.  Hefter  cheerfully  ran  and  fetched  her  Tes¬ 
tament.  But  John  fell  a  laughing,  called  her  a 
fool,  and  laid,  it  would  be  time  enough  to  read 
the  Teftament  to  him  when  he  was  going  to  die^ 
bur  at  prefent  he  muft  have  fomething  merry, — 

1  •  "** 

*  This  practice  i&  too  common,  Thofe  tairs  which  pro., 
fefs  to  be  kept  on  Monday,  commonly  begin  on  the  Sunday, 
It  is  much  to  be  wifhed  that  inagiftrates  would  put  a  flop  to 
it,  as  Mr.  Simpfon  did  at  Wellon,  at  the  requeft  of  Mrs, 
Jones.  1  here  is  another  great  evil  worth  the  notice  of  Juf- 
tices.  In  many  villages,  during  the  fair,  ale  is  fold  at  private 
houfes,  which  have  no  licence,  to  the  great  injury  of  fobriety 
and  good  morals, 

c> 


3  3  $  The  Hiftory  of  Heft er  JVilmot  . 

So  faying,  he  gave  her  a  fong-book  which  he 
had  picked  up  at  the  Bell.  Hefter  having  call 
Her  eyes  over  it,  refilled  to  read  it,  faying,  fhe 
did  not  dare  offend  God  by  reading  what  would 
hurt  her  own  foul.  John  called  her  a  canting  hy¬ 
pocrite,  and  faid,  he  would  put  the  Teftament  in 
the  fire,  for  that  there  was  not  a  more  merry  girl 
than  fhe  v/as  before  fhe  became  religious.  Her 
mother  for  once  took  her  part,  not  becaufe  fhe 
thought  her  daughter  in  the  right,  but  becaufe  fhe 
was  glad  of  any  pretence  to  fhew  her  hufband  was 
in  the  wrong  though  fhe  herfelf  would  have 
abufed  Hefter  for  the  fame  thing  if  John  had 
taken  her  part.  John,  with  a  fhocking  oath, 
abufed  them  both,  and  went  off  in  a  violent  paf- 
fion,  Hefter,  inftead  of  faying  one  undutiful 
word  againft  her  father,  took  up  a  Pfalter  in  order 
to  teach  her  little  fillers,  but  Rebecca  was  fo  pro¬ 
voked  at  her  for  not  joining  her  in  her  abufe  of 
her  hufband,  that  flic  changed  her  humour,  faid 
John  was  in  the  right,  and  Hefter  a  perverle 
hypocrite,  who  only  made  religion  a  pretence  for 
being  undutiful  to  her  parents.  Hefter  bore  all 
in  ftlence,  and  committed  her  caufe  to  Him  “who 
judgeth  righteouf}y.,,  It  would  have  been  a 
great  comfort  to  her  if  fhe  had  dared  to  go  to 
Mrs.  Crew,  and  to  have  joined  in  the  religious 
exercifes  of  the  evening  at  fchool.  But  her 
mother  refufed  to  let  her,  faying,  it  would  only 
harden  her  heart  in  mifehief.  Hefter  faid  not  a 
word,  but  after  having  put  the  little  ones  to  bed, 
and  heard  them  fay  their  prayers  out  of  fight,  fhe 
went  and  fat  down  in  her  own  little  loft,  and  faid 
to  herfelf,  it  would  be  pleafant  to  me  to  have 


The  Hijlory  of  Hejler  WilmoL  339 

taught  my  little  fillers  to  read,  I  thought  it  was 
my  duty,  for  David  has  faid,  fC  Come  ye  children, 
hearken  unto  me,  I  will  teach  you  the  fear  of  the 
Lord.”  It  would  have  been  Hill  more  pleafant 
to  have  palfed  the  evening  at  fchool,  becaufe  I 
am  Hill  ignorant,  and  fitter  to  learn  than  to  teach  ; 
but  I  cannot  do  either  without  flying  in  the  face 
of  my  mother  ;  God  fees  fit  to-night  to  change' 
my  pleafant  duties  into  a  painful  trial.  I  give  up 
my  will,  and  I  fubmit  to  the  will  of  my  father  ^ 
but  when  he  orders  me  to  commit  a  known  fin, 
then  I  dare  not  do  it,  becaufe,  in  fo  doing,  I  muff 
difobey  my  father  which  is  in  heaven.  Now  it  fo 
fell  out,  that  this  difpute  happened  on  the  very 
Sunday  next  before  Mrs.  Jones’s  yearly  feaft.— 
On  May-day  all  the  fchool  attended  her  to  church, 
each  in  a  fluff  gown  of  their  own  earning,  and  a 
cap  and  white  apron  of  her  giving.  After 
church  there  was  an  examination  made  into  the 
learning  and  behaviour  of  the  fcholars ;  thofe 
who  were  moft  perfed  in  their  chapters,  and  who 
brought  the  belt  character  for  induftry,  humility, 
and  fobriety  received  a  Bible,  or  fome  other  good 
book. 

Now  Hefter  had  been  a  whole  year  hoarding 
up  her  little  favings,  in  order  to  be  ready  with  a 
new  gown  on  the  May-day  feafl.  She  had  never 
2jot  lefs  than  two  {hillings  a  week  by  her  fpinning, 
jelldes  working  for  the  family,  and  earning  a 
rifle  by  odd  jobs.  This  money  fhe  faithfully 
:arried  to  her  mother  every  Saturday  night,  keepi¬ 
ng  back,  by  confent,  only  two-pence  a  week 
owards  the  gown.  The  fum  was  compleat,  the 


340  The  Hiftory  of  Heft er  Wilmot. 

pattern  had  long  been  fettled,  and  Heller  had 
only  on  the  Monday  morning  to  go  to  the  fhop, 
pay  her  money,  and  bring  home  her  gown  to  be 
made.  Her  mother  happened  to  go  out  that 
morning  early  to  iron  in  a  gentleman's  family, 
where  fhe  ufually  llayed  a  day  or  two,  and  Heller 
was  bufy  putting  the  houfe  in  order  before  ihe 
Went  to  the  fhop. 

On  that  very  Monday  there  was  to  be  a  meet¬ 
ing  at  the  Bell,  of  all  the  idle  fellows  in  the  parifh. 
John  Wilmot  of  courfe  was  to  be  there.  Indeed 
he  had  accepted  a  challenge  of  the  blackfmith  to 
a  batch  at  all-fours.  The  blackfmith  was  flulh  of 
money;  John  thought  himfelf  the  bell  player; 
and  that  he  might  make  fure  of  winning,  he  re- 
folved  to  keep  himfelf  fober,  which  he  knew  was 
more  than  the  other  would  do.  John  was  fo  ufed 
to  go  upon  tick  for  ale,  that  he  got  to  the  door 
of  the  Bell  before  he  recolledled  that  he  could 
not  keep  his  word  with  the  gambler  without 
money,  and  he  had  not  a  penny  in  his  pocket, 
fo  he  fullenly  turned  homewards.  Fie  dared  not 
apply  to  his  wife,  as  he  knew  he  fhould  be  more 
likely  to  get  a  fcratched  face  than  a  fix-pence 
from  her ;  but  he  knew  that  Heller  had  received 
two  Ihillings  for  her  lafb- week's  fpinning  on  Satur¬ 
day,  and  perhaps  Ihe  might  not  yet  have  given 
it  to  her  mother.  Of  the  hoarded  fum  he  knew 
nothing.  He  alked  her  if  Ihe  could  lend  him 
half-a-crown,  and  he  would  pay  her  next  day. — 
Heller,  pleafed  to  fee  him  in  good  humour,  after 
»  what  had  palled  the  night  before,  ran  up  and 
fetched  down  her  little  box,  and,  in  the  joy  of 
her  heart  that  he  now  defired  fomething  Ihe 


The  Hiftory  of  Hejler  JVilmot .  342 

could  comply  with,  without  wounding  her  con¬ 
fidence,  cheerfully  poured  out  her  whole  little 
ftock  upon  the  table.  John  was  in  raptures  at 
the  fight  of  three  half-crowns  and  a  fixpence,  and 
eagerly  feized  it,  box  and  all,  together  with  a  few 
hoarded  halfpence  at  the  bottom,  though  he  had 
only  afked  to  borrow  half-a-crown.  None  but 
one  whofe  heart  was  hardened  by  a  long  courfe  of 
drunkennefs  could  have  taken  away  the  whole, 
and  for  fuch  a  purpofe.  He  told  her  Ihe  fhould 
certainly  have  it  again  next  morning,  and,  indeed, 
intended  to  pay  it,  not  doubting  but  he  fhould 
double  the  fum.  But  John  over-rated  his  own 
fkili,  or  luck,  for  he  loft  every  farthing  to  the 
blackfmith,  fneaked  home  before  midnight, 
and  quietly  walked  up  to  bed.  He  was  quite 
fober,  which  Hefter  thought  a  good  fign.  Next 
morning  fhe  afked  him,  in  a  very  humble  way, 
for  the  money,'  which  fhe  faid  fhe  would  not  have 
done,  but  that  if  the  gown  was  not  bought  di- 
redtly  it  would  not  be  ready  in  time  for  the  feaft, 
John’s  confidence  had  troubled  him  a  little  for 
what  he  had  done,  for  when  he  was  not  drunk  he 
was  not  ill-natured,  and  he  Hammered  out  a 
broken  excufe,  but  owned  he  had  loft  the  money, 
and  had  not  a  farthing  left.  The  moment  Hefter 
faw  him  mild  and  kind,  her  heart  was  foftened, 
and  fhe  begged  him  not  to  vex :  adding,  that  fhe 
would  be  contented  never  to  have  a  new  gown  as 
long  as  fhe  lived,  if  fhe  could  have  the  comfort 
of  always  feeing  him  come  home  as  fober  as  he 
was  laft  night.  For  Hefter  did  not  know  that  he 
had  refrained  from  getting  drunk,  only  that  he 

0.3 


34-  .  The  Hiftory  of  Refer  JVilmot , 

might  gamble  with  a  better  chance  of  fuccefs, 
and  that  when  a  gamefter  keeps  himfelf  fober, 
it  is  not  that  he  may  praflife  a  virtue,  but  that  he 
may  commit  a  worfe  crime.  I  am,  indeed,  forry 
for  what  I  have  done,  faid  he  ;  you  cannot  go  to 
the  feafl,  and  what  will  madam  Jones  fay  ?  Yes, 
but  I  can,  faid  Heller,  for  God  looks  not  at  the 
gown,  but  at  the  heart,  and  fm  lure  he  fees  mine 
full  of  gratitude  at  hearing  you  talk  fo  kindly  ; 
and  if  I  thought  my  dear  father  would  change  his 
'  prefent  evil  courfes,  I  fhould  be  the  happieft  girl 
at  the  feafl  to-morrow.  John  walked  away 
mournfully,  and  faid  to  himfelf,  Surely  there  mud: 
be  fomething  in  religion,  lince  it  can  thus  change 
the  heart.  Heller  was  a  pert  girl,  and  now  fhe  is 
as  mild  as  a  lamb.  She  was  an  indolent  girl,  and 
now  fhe  is  up  with  the  lark.  She  was  a  vain  girl, 
and  would  do  any  thing  for  a  new  ribbon ;  and 
now  fhe  is  contented  to  go  in  rags  to  a  feall  at 
which  every  one  elfe  will  have  a  new  gown.  She 
deprived  herfelf  of  her  gown  to  give  me  the 
money,  and  yet  this  very  girl,  fo  dutiful  in  fome 
things,  would  fabmit  to  be  turned  out  of  doors, 
rather  than  read  a  loofe  book  at  my  command,  or 
break  the  Sabbath,  I  do  not  underftand  this ; 
there  mull  be  fome  myllery  in  it. — All  this  he 
faid  as  he  was  going  to  work.  In  the  evening  he 
did  not  go  to  the  Bell ;  whether  it  was  owing  to 
his  new  thoughts,  or  to  his  not  having  a  penny  in 
his  pocket,  I  will  not  take  upon  me  politively  to 
fay,  but  I  believe  it  was  a  little  of  one  and  a  little 
of  the  other. 

*  As  the  pattern  of  the  intended  gown  had  long 
been  fettled  in  the  family,  and  as  Heller  had  the 


The  Hifiory  of  Hejier  JVilmot,  343 

money  by  her,  it  was  looked  on  as  good  as- 
bought,  fo  that  fhe  wastrufted  to  get  it  brought 
home,  and  made  in  her  mother’s  abfen-ce.  In¬ 
deed,  fo  little  did  Rebecca  care  about  the  fchool, 
that  file  would  not  have  cared  any  thing  about 
the  gown,  if  her  vanity  had  not  made  her  wifh 
that  her  daughter  ihould  be  the  bed  dre  fifed  of  any 
girl  at  the  head.  Being  from  home,  as  was Raid 
before,  fhe  knew  nothing  of  the  difappointment. 
On  May-day  morning,  Hefter,  inftead  of  keeping 
from  the  feaft,  becaufe  fhe  had  not  a  new  gown, 
or  meanly  inventing  any  excufe,  drefifed  herfelf 
out  as  neatly  as  fhe  could  in  her  poor  old  things, 
and  went  to  join  the  fchool  in  order  to  go  to 
church.  Whether  Hefter  had  formerly  indulged' 
a  little  pride  of  heart,  and  talked  of  this  gown 
rather  too  much,  I  am  not  quite  fure ;  certain  it 
is,  there  was  a  great  hue  and  cry  made  at  feeing 
Hefter  Wilmot,  the  neateft  girl,  the  mod  induf- 
trious  girl  in  the  fchool,  come  to  the  May- day 
feaft  in  an  old  fluff  gown,  when  every  other  girl 
was  fo  creditably  dreft.  Indeed,  I  am  lorry  today, 
there  were  two  or  three  much  too  fmart  for  their 
ftation,  and  who  had  dizened  themfelves  out  in 
very  improper  finery,  which  Mrs.  Jones  made 
them  take  off  before  her.  I  mean  this  feaft,  faid 
flie,  as  a  reward  of  induftry  and  piety,  and  not  as 
a  trial  of  fkill  who  can  be  fineft,  and  outvy  the 
reft  in  fhow.  If  I  do  not  take  care,  my  feaft 
will  become  an  encouragement,  not  to  virtue,  but 
to  vanity.  I  am  fo  great  a  friend  to  decency  of 
apparel,  that  I  even  like  to  lee  you  deny  your 
appetites,  that  you  may  be  able  to  come  decently 

CL  4 


'  4 

3 44  'Tfie  Hiftory  of  Hefter  JVilmct. 

dreileci  to  the  houfe  of  God.  To  encourage  you 
to  do  this.  I  like  to  fet  apart  this  one  day  of  inno¬ 
cent  pleafure,  againft  which  you  may  be  preparing 
all  the  year,  by  laying  afide  fomething  every 
week  towards  buying  a  gown  out  of  your  little 
favings.  But,  let  me  tell  you,  thatmeeknefs  and 
an  humble  fpirit  is  of  more  value  in  the  fight  of 
God  and  good  men,  than  the  gayeft  cotton  gown, 
or  the  brightell  pink  ribbon  in  the  pari fh. 

Mrs.  Jones,  for  all  this,  was  as  much  furprifed 
as  the  reft,  at  Heller’s  mean  garb :  but  fuch  is 
the  power  of  a  good  character  that  fhe  gave  her 
credit  for  a  right  intention,  efpecially  as  fbe  knew 
the  unhappy  Hate  of  her  family.  For  it  was  Mrs. 
Jones’s  way  (and  it  is  not  a  bad  way)  always  to 
wait,  and  enquire  into  the  truth,  before  fhe  con¬ 
demned  any  body  of  good  character,  though  ap¬ 
pearances  were  againft  them.  As  we  cannot 
judge  of  peoples’  motives,  faid  fhe,  we  may,  from 
ignorance,  often  condemn  their  bell  adlions,  and 
approve  of  their  worft.  It  will  be  always  time 
enough  to  judge  unfavourably,  and  let  us  give 
others  credit  as  long  as  we  can,  and  then  we,  in 
our  turn,  may  expedt  a  favourable  judgment  from 
others,  and  remember  who  has  faid,  “judge  not, 
that  ye  be  not  judged.”  Heller  was  no  more 
proud  of  what  fhe  had  done  for  her  father,  than 
fhe  was  humbled  by  the  meannefs  of  her  garb  : 
and  though  Betty  Stiles,  one  of  the  girls  whofe 
finery  had  been  taken  away,  fneered  at  her,  Hef¬ 
ter  never  offered  to  clear  herfelf,  by  expofing  her 
father,  though  fhe  thought  it  right  fecretly  to  in¬ 
form  Mrs.  Jones  of  what  had  pall.  When  the 
examination  of  the  girls  began,  Betty  Stiles  was 


The  Hiftory  of  Hefter  TVilmot .  345 

aiked  fome  queftions  on  the  fourth  and  fifth  com¬ 
mandments,  which  fhe  anfwered  very  well.— 
Hefter  was  afked  nearly  the /a me  queftions,  and, 
though  ftie  anfwered  thei^^g  better  than  Betty 
had  done,  they  were  all  fiirprifed  to  fee  Mrs. 
Jones  rife  up  and  give  a  handfome’ Bible  to  Hef¬ 
ter,  while  fhe  gave  nothing  to  Betty.  This  girl 
cried  out  rather  pertly,  Madam,  it  is  very  hard 
that  I  have  no  book  ;  I  was  as  perfect  as  Hefter. 
— I  have  often  told  you,  faid  Mrs.  Jones,  that  re¬ 
ligion  is  not  a  thing  of  the  tongue  but  of  the 
heart.  That  girl  gives  me  the  belt  proof  that 
Ihe  has  learned  the  fourth  commandment  to  good 
purpofe,  who  perfifts  in  keeping  holy  the  Sab¬ 
bath-day,  though  commanded  to  break  it  by  a 
parent  whom  fhe  loves.  And  that  girl  beffc 
proves  that  fhe  keeps  the  fifth,  who  gives  up  her 
own  comfort,  and  cloathing,  and  credit,  “  to 
honour  and  obev  her  father  and  mother,”  even 
though  they  are  not  fuch  as  Die  could  wifh.— 
Betty  Stiles,  though  fhe  could  anfwer  the  quef¬ 
tions  fo  readily,  went  abroad  laft  Sunday,  when 
fhe  fhould  have  been  at  fchool,  and  refufed  to 
nurfe  her  fick  mother,  when  fhe  could  not  help 
herfelf.  Is  this  having  learnt  thefe  two  com¬ 
mandments  to  any  good  purpofe  ? 

Farmer  Hofkins,  who  flood  by,  whifpered  to 
Mrs.  Jones,  Well,  Madam,  now  you  have  con¬ 
vinced  even  me  of  the  benefit  of  religious  in- 
flrudlion  ;  now  I  fee  there  is  a  meaning  to  it.  I 
thought  it  was  in  at  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other* 
and  that  a  fong  was  as  well  as  a  pfalm  \  but  now 
I  have  found  the  proof  of  the  pudding  is  in  the 

Q.5 


34&  The  Hiflory  of  Refer  TVilmot . 

eating.  I  fee  your  fcholars  muft  do  what  they 
hear,  and  obey  what  they  learn.  Why,  at  this 
rate  they  will  all  be  the  better  fervants  for  being 
really  godly,  and  fo  I  will  add  a  pudding  to  next 
year’s  feaft. 

The  pleafure  Heller  felt  in  receiving  a  new 
Bible,  made  her  forget  that  die  had  on  an  old 
gown.  She  walked  to  church  in  a  thankful 
frame  ;  but  how  great  was  ^er  joy  when  fhe  faw, 
among  a  number  of  working  men,  her  own  fa¬ 
ther  going  into  church  !  As  die  pad:  by 
him,  fhe  call  on  him  a  look  of  fo  much 
joy  and  affedtion,  that  it  brought  tears  into  his 
eyes,-  efpecially  when  he  compared  her  mean 
drefs  with  that  of  the  other  girls,  and  thought 
who  had  been  the  caufe  of  it.  John,  who  had 
not  been  at  church  for  fome  years,  was  deeply 
ft  ruck  with  the  fervice.  The  confeflion  with 
which  it  opens  went  to  his  heart.  He  felt,  for 
the  firft  time,  that  he  was  a  miferable  dnner, 
and  that  there  was  no  health  in  him.”  He  now’ 
felt  compundlion  for  fin  in  genera],  though  it  was 
only  his  ill  behaviour  to  his  daughter  which  had 
brought  him  to  church.  The  fermon  was  fuch 
as  ferved  to  ftrengthen  the  imprefilon  which  the 
prayers  had  made ;  and  when  it  was  over,  inftead 
of  joining  the  ringers  (for  the  belfrey  was  the 
only  part  of  the  church  John  liked,  be  caufe 
it  ufually  led  to  the  alehoufe)  he  quietly  walked 
back  to  his  work.  It  was,  indeed,  the  bed:  day’s 
work  he  ever  made.  He  could  not  get  out  of 
his  head  the  whole  day  the  firft  words  he  heard  at 
church  :  f<  When  the  wicked  man  turneth  away 
from  his  wickednefs,  and  doth  that  which  is  law- 


The  Hiflory  of  Refer  JVihnot.  y  347 

ful  and  right,  he  fliall  fave  his  foul  alive.* *  At 
night,  inftead  of  going  to  the  Bell,  he  went 
home,  intending  to  alk  Heller  to  forgive  him; 
but  as  foon  as  he  got  to  the  door,  he  heard  Re¬ 
becca  rating  his  daughter  for  having  brought  fuch 
a  difgrace  on  the  family  as  to  be  feen  in  that  old 
rag  of  a  gown,  and  infilled  on  knowing  what  fhe 
had  done  with  the  money.  Heller  tried  to  keep 
the  fecret,  but  her  mother  declared  Hie  would 
turn  her  out  of  doors  if  fhe  did  not  tell  the  truth. 
Heller  was  at  laft  forced  to  confefs  Hie  had  given 
it  to  her  father.  Unfortunately  for  poor  John* 
it  was  at  this  very  moment  he  opened  the  door. — 
The  mother  now  divided  her  fury  between  her 
guilty  hulband  and  her  innocent  child,  till  from 
words  Hie  fell  to  blows.  John  defended  his 
daughter,  and  received  fome  of  the  flrokes  in¬ 
tended  for  the  poor  girl.  Tills  turbulent  fcene 
partly  put  John’s  good  refolutions  to  flight, 
though  the  patience  of  Heller  did  him  almoH  as 
much  good  as  the  fermon  he  had  heard.  At 
length  the  poor  girl  efcaped  up  Hairs,  not  a  little 
bruiled,  and  a  fcene  of  much  violence  palled  be¬ 
tween  John  and  Rebecca.  She  declared  fhe 
would  not  fit  down  to  flipper  with  fuch  a  brute, 
and  fet  off  to  a  neighbour’s  houfe,  that  Hie  might 
have  the  pleafure  of  abufing  him  the  longer.— 
John,  whofe  mind  was  much  diHurbed,  went  up 
Hairs  without  Ills  flapper.  As  he  was  palling  by 
HeHer’s  little  room  lie  heard  her  voice,  and  as  he 
concluded  fhe  was  venting,  bitter  complaints 

he  Hopped  to<  liHen, 
rt  her.  Tie  Hopped 


agaiint  ner  unnatural  parents, 
'  refolving  to  go  in  and  comfo 

a  6 


34$  The  Hiftory  of  Hejler  JVilmot . 

at  the  door,  for,  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  he  faw 
her  kneeling  by  her  bedfide,  and  praying  fo  ear- 
neftly  that  Ihe  did  not  hear  him.  As  he  made 
fure  fhe  could  be  praying  for  nothing  but  his* 
death,  what  was  his  furprife  to  hear  thefe  words, 
<c  O  Lord,  have  mercy* upon  my  dear  father  and 
mother;  teach  me  to  love  them,  to  pray  for  them, 
and  do  them  good  :  make  me  more  dutiful  and 
more  patient,  that,  adorning  the  dodrine  of  God 
my  Saviour,  I  may  recommend  his  holy  religion, 
and  my  dear  parents  may  be  brought  to  love  and 
*  fear  thee,  through  Jefus  (Thrift.” 

Poor  John,  who  would  never  have  been  hard¬ 
hearted  if  he  had  not  been  a  drunkard,  could  not 
Land  this ;  he  fell  down  on  his  knees,  embraced 
his  child,  and  begged  her  to  teach  him  how  to 
pray.  He  prayed  himfelf  as  well  as  he  could, 
and  though  he  did  not  know  what  words  to  ufe, 
yet  his  heart  was  melted  ;  he  owned  he  was  a  Tin¬ 
ner,  and  begged  Hefter  to  fetch  the  prayer-book, 
and  read  over  the  confeftion  with  which  he  had 
been  fo  ftruck  at  church.  This  was  the  plea- 
fanteft  order  fhe  had  ever  obeyed.  Seeing  him 
deeply  affeded  with  a  fenfe  of  fin,  fhe  pointed  out 
to  him  the  Saviour  of  Tinners  ;  and  in  this  manner 
'  jftie  paft  fome  hours  with  her  father,  which  were 
the  happieft  of  her  life  ;  fuch  a  night  was  worth 
a  hundred  cotton,  or  even  filk  gowns.  In  the 
courfe  of  the  week  Hefter  read  over  the  confef- 
fidn,  and  fome  other  prayers,  to  her  father  fo  often 
that  he  got  them  by  heart,  and  repeated  them 
while  he  was  at  work.  She  next  taught  him  the 
fifty- firft  Pfalm.  And  at  length  he  took  cou¬ 
rage  to  kneel  down  and  pray  before  he  went  to 


The  Hiftory  cf  Hejter  Wilmoth  .349 

bed.  From  that  time  he  bore  his  wife's  ill-hu¬ 
mour  much  better  than  he  had  ever  done ;  and, 
as  he  knew  her  to  be  neat,  and  notable,  and  fav- 
#  ing,  he  began  to  think,  that  if  her  temper  was  not 
quite  fo  bad,  his  home  might  grill  become  as  plea- 
fant  a  place  to  him  as  ever*  the  Bellhad  been: 
but  unlefs  fhe  became  more  tradable  he  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  his  long  evenings  after  the 
little  ones  were  in  bed,  for  he  began,  once  more, 
to  delight  in  playing  with  them.  Hefter  propofed 
that  fhe  fhould  teach  him  to  read  an  hour  every 
night,  and  he  confented.  Rebecca  began  to 
ftorm,  from  the  mere  trick  fhe  had  got  of  form¬ 
ing  ;  but  finding  that  he  now  brought  home  all 
his  earnings,  and  that  fhe  got  both  his  money  and 
his  company  (for  fhe  had  once  loved  him),  fhe 
began  to  reconcile  herfelf  to  this  new  way  of  life* 
In  a  few  months  John  could  read  a  pfalm;  in 
learning  to  read  it  he  alfo  got  it  by  heart,  and* 
this  proved  a  little  ftore  for  private  devotion,  and 
while  he  was  mowing  he  could  call  to  mind  a  text 
to  cheer  his  labour;  He  now  went  conftantly  to 
church,  and  often  dropped  in  at  the  fchool  on  a 
Sunday  evening  to  hear  their  prayers.  He  ex- 
preffed  fo  much  pleafure  at  this,  that  one  day 
Hefter  ventured  to  afk  him  if  they  fhould  fet  up 
family  prayer  at  home  ?  John  faid  he  fhould  like 
it  mightily,  but  as  he  could  not  yet  read  quite  well 
enough,  he  defired  Hefter  to  try  to  get  a  proper 
book,  and  begin  next  Sunday  night.  Hefter  had 
bought,  of  a  pious  hawker,  for  three  half-pence 

*  Thefe  prayers  may  be  had  alfo  divided  into  two  parts, 
one  fit  for  private  perfons,  the  other  for  families,  price  one 
halfpenny* 


35°  Hiftory  of  Hejter  JVilmct. 

the  Book  of  Prayers,  printed  for  the  Cheap  Re- 
pofitory. 

When  Hefter  read  the  exhortation  at  the  beT 
ginning  of  this  little  book,  her  mother,  who  fat  * 
in  the  corner,  and  pretended  to  be  afleep,  was  fo 
much  {truck  that  fhe  could  not  find  a  word  to  fay 
againft  it.  For  a  few  nights,  indeed,  fhe  conti¬ 
nued  to  fit  frill,  or  pretended  to  rock  the  young 
child  while  her  hufband  and  daughter. were  kneel- 
mg  at  their  prayers.  She  expected  John  would 
have  fcolded  her  for  this,  and  fo  perverfe  was  her 
temper,  that  fhe  was  difappointed  at  his  finding 
no  fault  with  her.  Seeing  at  laft  that  he  was  very 
patient,  and  that  though  he  prayed  fervently  him- 
feif  he  fmTered  her  to  do  as  fhe  liked,  fine  loft  the 
fpirit  of  oppofition  for  want  of  fomething  to  pro¬ 
voke  it.  As  her  pride  began  to  be  fubdued,  fome 
little  difpofition  to  piety  was  awakened  in  her 
heart.  By  degrees  fhe  flid  down  on  her  knees ; 
though  at  fir  ft  it  was  behind  the  cradle,  or  the 
clock,  or  in  fome  corner,  where  fhe  thought  they 
would  not  fee  her.  Hefter  rejoiced  even  in  this 
outward  change  in  her  mother,  and  prayed  that 
God  would  at  laft  be  pleafed  to  touch  her  heart 
as  he  had  done  that  of  her  father. 

As  John  now  fpent  no  idle  money,  he  had  faved 
'up  a  trifle  by  working  over-hours  -3  this  he  kindly 
offered  to  Hefter  to  make  up  for  the  lofs  of  her 
gown.  Inftead  of  accepting  it,  Hefter  told  him, 
that  as  fhe  herlelf  was  young  and  healthy,  fhe 
fnould  foon  be  able  to  clothe  herlelf  out  of  her 
own  favings,  and  begged  him  to  make  her  mo¬ 
ther  a  prefent  of  this  gown,  which  he  did.  It  had 
been  a  maxim  of  Rebecca,  that  it  was  better  not 
to  go  to  Church  at  all  than  go  in  an  old  gown. 


The  Hiftory  of  Hefter  Wilmot.  j  5  2 

She  had,  however,  fo  far  conquered  this  evil  no¬ 
tion,  that  fhe  had  lately  gone  pretty  often.  This 
kindnefs  of  the  gown  touched  her  not  a  little,  and 
the  firft  Sunday  fhe  put  it  on,  Mr.  Simpfon  hap¬ 
pened  to  preach  from  this  text,  cs  God  refifteth 
the  proud,  but  giveth  grace  to  the  humble.” 
This  fermon  fo  affected  Rebecca,  that  fhe  never 
once  thought  fhe  had  her  new  gown  on,  till 
flie  came  to  take  it  off  when  fhe  went  to  bed  ;  and 
that  very  night,  inftead  of  fkulking  behind,  fhe 
knelt  down  by  her  hufband. 

There  was  one  thing  funk  deep  in  Rebecca’s 
mind  ;  fhe  had  obferved,  that  fince  her  hufband 
had  grown  religious  he  had  been  fo  careful  not  to 
give  her  any  offence,  that  he  was  become  fcrupu- 
loufly  clean  ,  took  off  his  dirty  fhoes  before  he 
fat  down,  and  was  very  cautious  not  to  fpill  a 
drop  of  beer  on  her  fhining  table.  Now  it  was 
rather  remarkable,  that  as  John  grew  more  neat, 
Rebecca  grew  more  indifferent  to  neatnels.  But 
both  thefe  changes  arofe  from  the  fame  caufe,  the 
growth  of  religion  in  their  hearts.  John  grew 
cleanly  from  the  fear  of  giving  pain  to  his  wife, 
while  Rebecca  grew  indifferent,  from  having  dif— 
covered  the  fin  and  folly  of  an  over-anxious  care 
about  trifles.  When  the  heart  is  once  given  up 
to  God,  fuch  vanities  die  of  thernfelves. 

Hefter  continues  to  grow  in  grace,  and  in 
knowledge.  Laft  Chriftmas-day  fhe  was  ap¬ 
pointed  an  under-teacher  in  the  fchool,  and  many 
people  think  that  fome  years  hence,  if  any  thing 
fhould  happen  to  Mrs.  Crew,  Hefter  may  be 
promoted  to  be  head  miftrefs. 

Z, 

4) 


THE 


BEGGARLY  BOY, 

A  PARABLE. 


OnCE  on  a  time  a  poor  beggarly  boy,  who 
ufed  to  carry  matches  about  the  ftreets,  was  met 
by  a  very  rich  and  worthy  gentleman,  who,  ob- 
ferving  his  hollow  eyes,  his  fallow  looks,  and  his 
bent  body,  as  well  as  the  extreme  filth  with 
which  he  was  covered,  was  touched  with  fuch 
companion  for  the  lad,  that  he  was  difpofed  to 
render  him  fome  effectual  relief  ;  and  accordingly 
the  gentleman  dropt  a  hint  that  he  had  a  mind  to 
do  fomethino;  confiderable  for  him.  The  boy, 
never  expeding  any  fuch  goodnefs  as  this,  and 
indeed  not  liflening  very  attentively,  did  not  at 
nril  underftand  what  was  faid ;  upon  which  the 
gentleman  fpoke  more  plainly  to  him,  afking  him 
whether  he  had  a  mind  to  have  his  dirty  rags  ex¬ 
changed  for  a  new  livery  coat  and  fome  clean 
linen  ?  for,  faid  he,  if  you  have  a  mind  to  it  I 
will  take  you  into  my  fervice  and,  in  that  cafe* 
I  fhall  fit  you  out  afrefh,  and  I  fhall  take  care  alfo 
that  your  health  is  looked  after  $  and  when  you 
have  ferved  me  faithfully  for  a  few  years,  which 
you  may  do  very  comfortably  to  yourfelf,  I  will 
even  fet  you  up  in  life.  The  lad,  after  this, 
could  not  help  underflanding  the  offer  ;  but  he 
feemed  as  far  as  ever  from  accepting  it,  for  he 


The  Beggarly  Boy .  353 

Was  now  quite  unwilling  to  believe  the  gentle- 
man;  and  he  {hewed  by  his  manner,  that  he 
would  have  been  better  pleafed  to  have  fold  a 
halfpennyworth  of  matches  in  his  ufnal  way,  car- 
rying  off  the  halfpenny  in  his  hand,  than  to  have 
had  all  the  fine  promifes,  which  the  bed  and 
richeft  man  in  the  world  could  make  to  him. 

This  kind  gentleman,  however,  perfifting  in 
his  inclination  to  do  the  lad  a  fervice,  proceeded 
next  to  reafon  with  him  :  he  advifed  him,  for  his 
own  fake,  to  liften  a  little  more  to  what  was  faid, 
and  then  remarked  to  him  how  ill  he  looked, 
which  the  boy,  though  very  dangeroufiy  Tick,  was 
not  fenfible  of  himfelf:  and  reprefented  to  him  the 
difference  between  leading  the  wretched  fort  of 
life  he  did,  and  getting  into  a  regular  and  comfort¬ 
able  fervice.  Nay,  he  w?ent  fo  far  as  even  to  beg 
and  entreat  him,  at  the  fame  time  obferving  that  he 
had  no  obje&ion  to  the  lad's  fatisfying  himfelf 
that  the  perfon  who  addreffed  him  was  no  cheat 
or  impoftor :  and,  in  proof  of  it,  he  told  him  his 
name,  informed  him  how  he  might  learn  all  par¬ 
ticulars  of  his  charadter,  and  gave  him  a  dire&ion 
to  his  place  of  abode.  In  fhort,  he  condefcended 
to  fay  every  thing  that  could,  in  fuch  a  cafe,  be 
fuppofed  neceffary  to  give  a  poor  boy  confidence 
and  encouragement.  In  the  courfe  of  the  con- 
verfation  I  fhould  have  obferved,  that  the  gen¬ 
tleman,  as  a  proof  of  his  generofity,  threw  down 
a  {hilling,  which  the  lad  picked  up,  with  very  little 
gratitude  in  his  countenance,  but  with  no  fmall 
conceit  at  his  own  quicknefs  and  clevernefs  in 
feizing  hold  of  it  ;  after  which  he  grew  as  proud 
as  could  be  of  having  got  poffeffion  of  the  piece 


354  The  Beggarly  Boy „ 

of  money,  not  confide  ring  at  all  that  it  was  a 
mere  prefen t,  and  that  he  had  not  given  the  Gen¬ 
tleman  a  Tingle  match  for  it  out  of  his  bafket.^ 

I  am  perfuaded  my  readers  will  by  this  time, 
be  aware  that  this  was  a  lad  who  had  a  very  mean 
and  low  mind  ;  otherwife  he  would  undoubtedly  i 
have  been  overjoyed  at  fuch  an  opportunity  of 
getting  above  his  prefent  bafe  condition;  befides 
which,  I  fhould  remark,  that  he  had  been  a  long 
time  living  among  a  let  of  rogues  and  vagabonds^ 
whoheing  one  of  them  nearly  as  bad  as  another, 
and  naving  feldom  feen  among  them  any  perfons 
ot  a  different  character,  had  learnt  to  fancy  thenl- 
ielves  a  very  creditable  fort  of  people,  and,  when 
they  got  together,  were  juft  as  proud,  in  their 
way,  as  if  they  had  been  the  greatefl  Lords  and 
Dukes  in  the  kingdom.  At  night  the  hd  went 
home,  and  flept  among  thefe  old  companions,  in 
a  vile  unwholefome  room,  where,  though  each 
would  affed  now  and  then  to  be  merry  and  gay, 
yet,  in  fad,  they  were  all  of  them  dying  by  inches, 
and,  in  the  judgment  of  any  rational  or  feeling 
man,  who  might  condefcend  to  put  in  his  head 
among  them,  they  undoubtedly  were  altogether 
in  as  lorrowful  and  wretched  a  plight  as  can  well 
be  imagined. 

In  fhort,  then,  with  grief  and  pain  do  I  fpeak 
it,  this  poor  beggarly  boy  entirely  negleded  the 
prodigious  offer  which  had  been  made  to  him  : 
he  returned  to  his  former  company,  continued  in 
his  petty  trade,  and  dragged  on  the  little  remain¬ 
der  of  his  life  in  the  old  way,  juft  as  if  nothing 
had  happened. 

.1  now  propofe,  by  means  of  this  ftory,  which 


The  Beggarly  Boy.  355 

is  a  mere  allegory  or  parable,  to  expofe  the  con- 
dud  of  thole  perfons  who  are  unwilling  to  com¬ 
ply  with  the  gracious  invitations  of  our  Saviour, 
in  his  gofpel ;  for  he  is  that  kind  and  willing 
friend  (with  reverence  be  it  fpoken)  who  offers 
to  take  us  mean  and  needy  creatures  into  his  fer- 
vice,  and  we,  if  we  turn  away  and  re  fide  the 
offer,  may  be  likened  to  this  foolirh  beggarly  boy, 
having  nothing  better  to  plead,  as  I  think  I  fnall 
be  able  to  fhew,  than  one  or  other  of  thole  very 
excufes,  which,  when  put  in  his  mouth,  have  ap¬ 
peared  fo  abfurd  and  monftrons. 

Let  us  fee  whether  there  is  not  fome  general 
likenefs  between  the  two  cafes.  I  will  begin  by 
fuppofing  our  Saviour,  in  his  Gofpel,  to  addrefs 
himfelf  to  a  man  who  is  quite  thoughtlefs  and  un¬ 
believing.  Now  fuch  perfons  are  commonly 
much  more  wicked  than  they  imagine,  for  by  fol¬ 
lowing  their  natural  inclinations,  and  taking  no 
thought  to  their  ways,  they  permit  a  thoufand 
evil  difpofitions  to  grow  upon  them  ;  the  confe- 
quence  of  this  is,  that  when  the  Gofpel  firft  meets 
with  fuch  perfons,  it  finds  them  quite  covered  over 
with  wickednefs,  as  this  boy  was  with  dirt ; 
though,  like  him,  they  are  unconfcious  of  it.  It 
commonly  finds  them  alio  eagerly  engaged  m 
fome  poor  purfuit  of  this  life,  as  this  boy  was  in 
felling  matches. 

I  would  next  obferve,  that,  in  general,  when 
the  vaft  and  unfpeakable  offers  of  the  Gofpel  are 
firft  mentioned  in  the  ears  of  fuch  a  perfon  as  I 
have  been  deferibing,  his  mind  is  fo  ill  prepared 
for  the  fubjed,  and  his  thoughts  are  apt  to  be^  fo 
completely  turned  another  way,  that  he  probaoly 


3$b  The  Beggarly  Boy. 

docs  not  underftand,  nor  even  Hfben  to  what  is 
hud  to  him;  juft  like  this  boy,  who,  when  he  was 
nrit  ipoken  to,  refilled  to  liften  to  the  gentleman, 

and  continued  to  think  of  nothing  but  his  com¬ 
mon  traffic. 

But  let  us  next  fuppofe  the  man  to  have  the 
.  O'.PeJ  more  clearly  explained  to  him  ;  he  is  now 
invited  to  put  oft  his  fins,  which  have  been  repre¬ 
sented  by  the  filth  and  dirt,  to  enter  into  the  fer- 
VIce>  and  put  on,  as  it  were,  the  livery  of  Chrift, 
as  his  acknowledged .  fervant,  and  after  fpending 
the  ffiort  period  of  his  life  on  earth  in  a  ftate  of 
comfortable  and  willing  obedience  to  his  Deliverer 
and  Redeemer,  he  is  then  told  to  expert  that  he 
fhall  be  raifed  to  Heaven,  and  that  he  fhall  be 
made  happy  for  ever  and  ever.  How  aftoniffiing 
is  this  piopofal  !  What  then  is  the  next  diffi¬ 
culty  ?  It  is  this ;  that  the  worldly  man  will  not 
believe  the  truth  of  the  promife  which  is  held  out 
to  him  :  like  the  offer  to  this  beggarly  boy,  it 
feems  too  good  to  be  true,  or  rather,  it  is  too 
vaft  to  be  conceived  by  him.  Why  ffiould  this 
great  gentleman  trouble  himfelf  to  think  of  me, 
or  to  do  fo  much  to  ferve  me  ?  faid  the  foolifn 
boy  in  the  fable.  <f  Why  Ihould  the  great  God 
ftoop  fo  low  to  me,  or  think  of  fending  his  Son 
from  Heaven  to  fave  me  ?”  fays  the  fool  whodif- 
beheves  the  Bible.  The  boy,  therefore,  turned 
again  to  his  old  way,  notwithftanding  the  offer  he 
had  met  with;  and  the  wTorldly  man  is  for  doing 
the  fame,  though  he  has  heard  of  the  invitation 
of  the  Gofpel ;  for  he  wants  faith  to  truft  in  God, 
as  the  other  did  to  truft  the  gentleman  his  bene- 
-actor :  and  he  therefore  efteems  the  fmalleft  of 


The  Beggarly  Boy.  357 

the  good  things  of  this  life,  the  mere  ft  halfpenny 
in  hand,  to  be  more  than  eternal  happinefs  in  ex- 
pedtation. 

But  let  tis  fee  how  the  Gofpel  condefcends 
even  to  our  infirmity.  The  kind  gentleman  was 
reprefented  as  reafoning  with  this  dull  and  dif- 
truftful  lad,  informing  him  alfo  of  the  fteps  which 
he  ought  to  take,  as  the  means  of  fatisfying  his 
doubts,  and  of  getting  poffefiion,  at  length,  of  the 
blefling.  He  appealed  alfo  to  the  lad’s  own  ex¬ 
perience  of  the  hardfhips  of  his  prefent  condition, 
warning  him  alfo  of  his  future  danger,  and  a/Turing 
him,  at  the  fame  time,  of  the  mild  nature  of  that 
fervice  to  which  he  was  invited ;  and  after  anfwer- 
ing  every  objedtion,  the  gentleman  condefcended 
even  to  implore  and  intreat  this  poor  miferable 
fellow,  that,  for  his  own  fake,  he  would  not  re¬ 
main  inattentive  to  the  offer. 

So  is  it  with  the  Gofpel :  it  droops,  as  it  were, 
to  all  our  weakneffes  and  infirmities  ;  it  calls  to  us 
at  the  firft,  with  an  inviting  voice,  to  come  for¬ 
ward  and  approach  it  j  for  we  are  not  expected 
to  receive  every  truth  at  once  ;  ftill  lefs  are 
we  expedted  to  believe  without  evidence  :  for,  in 
the  propofals  of  the  Gofpel,  every  thing  is  fair, 
as  well  as  plain  and  pradticable.  It  does  not  afk 
us,  for  inftance,  to  effiedt  any  thing  without  fuf- 
ficient  means  for  it,  to  make  bricks  without  draw, 
to  drive  without  hope  of  fuccefs,  or  to  do  what 
is  impoflible  for  us  :  on  the  contrary,  we  are 
aflced  only  to  fhew  a  willing  mind,  and  to  ufe 
thofe  plain  and  fimple  means  which  the  Gofpel 
itfelf  fets  before  us  :  as  for  example  j  we  are  called 
upon  to  read  the  fcriptures,  to  attend  upon  the 


35$  Beggarly  Boy. 

preaching  of  the  Gofpel,  and  whatever  may  be 
the  other  religious  advantages,  either  of  good 
books,  or  Chridian  friends,  which  are  put  in  our 
way,  we  are  required  to  make  an  honed  and  dili¬ 
gent  ufe  of  them,  than  which  nothing  furely  can 
be  more  juft  and  reafonable ;  and  then,  becaufe 
after  all,  we  are  fo  weak  and  helplefs,  we  are  only 
told  the  more  particularly  to  pray  to  God  for  his 
grace  to  affift  us. 

Again ;  how  does  the  Gofpel  alfo  appeal  to 
our  experience,  as  the  gentleman  did  to  the  beg¬ 
garly  boy’s  experience  of  the  mifery  of  his  con¬ 
dition  ?  Have  we  never  fmarted  in  confequence 
of  thofe  fins  which  we  have  fallen  into  through 
our  negledt  of  the  Gofpel  ?  Have  we  never 
found  ourfelves  afflicted,  deditute,  and  even  mi- 
ferable  for  the  want  of  it  ?  Have  we  never 
known  an  hour  w'hen  the  merciful  help  and  pro¬ 
tection  of  an  heavenly  Father  would  have  proved 
a  comfort  and  a  bleffing  to  us  ?  yet  how  can  we 
expert  to  join  this  protection  in  the  time  of  our 
necefflty,  if,  inftead  of  entering  into  his  family, 
we  choofe,  like  this  helplefs  and  inconfideratc 
boy,  to  place  ourfelves  at  a  diftan'ce  ?  Hear  then 
how  the  Gofpel  calls  to  us  to  cad  ourfelves  on 
the  care  of  our  Redeemer:  £f  Come  unto  me 
(fays  Chrid)  all  ye  that  are  weary  and  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  red ;  take  my  yoke 
upon  you,  for  my  yoke  is  eafy,  and  my  burthen  is 
light,  and  ye  (hall  find  red  unto  your  fouls.”  How 
does  our  Saviour  alfo,  in  the  fame  manner  as  was 
faid  of  the  benevolent  man  in  the  parable,  turn 
fuppliant,  as  it  were,  to  the  finner,  <c  Ye  will  not 
come  unto  me,  that  ye  might  have  life.”  “  Why 

3 


The  Beggarly  Boy.  gyg 

will  ye  die,  O  houfe  of  Ifrael  ?”  CJ  We,  there¬ 
fore,  (fays  the  Apoftle)  as  ambaffadors  for  Chrift, 
befeech  you  in  Chrifl’s  (lead,  be  ye  reconciled  to 
God.”  Thus  then,  if  after  all  the  encourage¬ 
ments  of  the  Gofpel,  we  ftill  turn  away  from  it, 
and  refolve  to  do  without  it,  all  the  miferable 
confequences  which  will  follow  mud  be  laid  at  our 
own  door ;  and  whenever  the  day  of  our  extre¬ 
mity  Hi  all  come,  we  fhall  be  forced  to  own,  that 
we  are  left,  like  this  boy,  entirely  without  ex- 
cufe. 

It  has  been  remarked  in  the  ftory,  that  the 
fame  gentleman  who  made  this  great  offer  to  the 
beggarly  boy,  threw  him  down  a  fhilling  in  token 
of  his  liberality,  for  which  the  lad  never  thought 
of  thanking  him,  but  merely  grew  proud  upon  it, 
as  well  as  conceited  of  his  own  clevernefs  in 
catching  hold  of  the  piece.  What  a  very  mean 
ipirit  was  this  !  and  yet  is  not  this  the  very  Ipirit 
in  which  worldly-minded  men  receive  the  tempo¬ 
ral  bleffings  thrown  down  to  them  by  their  hea¬ 
venly  Father  ?  If  a  little  worldly  wealth  is  caff 
by  a  bounteous  Providence  into  their  lap,  they 
immediately  grow  haughty  in  confequence  of  it; 
and,  like  this  boy,  they  take  to  themfelves  credit 
for  the  ability  they  have  fhewn  in  the  manner  of 
getting  poffeffion  of  it :  many  men,  for  inftance, 
if  they  get  a  good  crop,  or  a  good  year’s  trade, 
are  as  full  of  themfelves,  and  as  thoughtlefs  of 
him  who  is  the  giver  of  it,  as  this  boy  was  ;  nor 
are  they  at  all  encouraged  by  God’s  providential 
goodnefs  to  look  up  to  Him  for  the  further  blefs- 
ings  of  the  Gofpek 

Reader,  if  thou  art  thus  vain  of  any  of  thine 


The  Beggarly  Boy . 

earthly  goods,  thou  mayeft  behold  thy  likenefs  in 
this  part  of  the  character  of  the  boy. 

We  come  now  more  particularly  to  fpeak  of 
the  caufes  which  lead  men  to  a<5b  the  ftrange  part 
they  do,  in  rejecting  the  Gofpel.  I  doubt  not  that 
this  foolilh  lad  might  find  a  thoufand  plaufible 
reafons,  in  his  own  mind,  by  which  he  might  dif- 
guife  from  himfelf  the  folly  and  abfurdity  of  his 
condudh  He  might  fay,  as  it  has  been  already 
hinted,  I  do  not  choofe  to  venture  on  all  this 
change  in  my  way  of  life.  I  am  afraid  of  giving 
myfelf  up  fo  entirely  to  the  gendenian.  Poor, 
foolifh  fellow  !  what  then,  had  ft  thou  any  thing  to 
lofe  by  the  change  ?  Could  fuch  a  lad  as  thou 
waft  be  meaner,  dirtier,  or  poorer  than  thou  waft 
already  ?  In  like  manner  we  may  fay  to  every  (in¬ 
ner  who  raifes  a  like  objection;  what  then  art 
thou  fearful  of  becoming  wickeder  than  thou  art, 
by  entering  into  the  fervice  of  Chrift  ?  Is  it  that 
thy  confcience  pricks  thee  in  proportion  as  thou 
draweft  nearer  to  him  ?  Art  thou  afraid  on  this 
account  to  make  the  venture  ? 

Or  the  lad  might  fay,  perhaps,  as  the  finner  is 
apt  to  fay,  I  have  lived  hitherto  in  my  prefent  way 
of  life,  and  why  fnould  I  not  go  on  in  it  ?  which  is 
but  faying  in  other  words,  I  have  lived  hitherto  in 
dirt,  or  I  have  lived  hitherto  in  fin,  and  why 
may  I  not  live  on  in  it  ?  than  which  there  cannot 
be  a  more  miferable  reafon,  though,  I  fear,  there 
is  hardly  a  more  common  one. 

But  let  us,  as  I  faid,  lay  open  the  true  caufe. — 
We  have  already  obferved,  that  this  boy  had  long 
dwelt  in  the  company  of  a  fad  fet  of  vagabonds, 
who  being  very  numerous,  and  one  of  them  as  bad 


as  another,  contrived  to  keep  each  other  in  coun¬ 
tenance,  To  as  to  pais,  forfooth,  fo|*  very  decent 
people.  This  is  exactly  the  cafe  with  the  mul¬ 
titude  of  wicked  and  worldly  minded  people  ;  they 
live  in  great  flocks  together,  they  fee  none  but 
thole  W' no  are  much  like  themielves,  and  they  have 
no  more  idea  of  a  truly  Chriftian  life,  than  this 
boy  had  of  the  iort  of  life  led  in  the  family  of 
this  great  gentleman;  lo  that  when  the  Gofpel 
calls  to  them  to  repent,  and  change  their  courfe, 
and  enter  into  the  fervice  of  Chrifr,  they  fee  no 
need  for  it,  they  are  as  good  as  their  neighbours, 
and  having  no  other  rule  of  judging  except  this, 
they  pronounce  themfelves  to  be  well  enough  al¬ 
ready.  But  I  would  wifh  fuch  perfons  to  refiebk 
onyhe  error  of  this  boy,  and  to  recoiled,  that 
many  a  coat  which  feems  clean  enough  to  a  poor 
man,  appears  very  dirty  in  the  eyes  of  a  delicate 
gentleman,  and  that,  in  like  manner,  many  a  lifer 
which  a  worldly  per  ion  thinks  innocent,  appears 
to  be  a  very  wicked  one  in  the  eyes  of  a  Chrihiaq. 

Tne  grand  caule  ot  all,  however,  which  makes 
men  rejed  the  Gofpel,  is  one  which  mufl  be, 
traced  ft  ill  further,  ft  was  remarked  of  this  boy, 
that  he  had  no  heart  for  the  fort  of  benefit  which 
was  offered  him,  for  that  he  had  a  very  mean  and 
low  mind  :  he  had  therefore  not  merely  fallen  into 
bad  company,  ^ but  he  had  chofen  it /he  was  not. 
only  ufed  to  dirt,  but  he  really  loved  it;  he  had. 
no  delight  in  cleanlinefs,  for  his  tafte,  unhappily, 
lay  quite  the  other  way. 

Now  this,  when  it  is  considered,  will  ferve  to 
explain  very  clearly  the  feveral  circumftances  in 

:  -  r 


The  Beggarly  Boy. 

his  conduft,  and  it  will  alfo  account  very  fcif- 
ficiently  for  his  entire  refufal  of  the  offer.  Hb 
rudenefs  in  not  attending  to  the  gentleman  when 
he  firft  called  to  him,  as  well  as  his  continual  ab- 
fence  of  mind  afterwards,  his  difficulty  in  believ¬ 
ing  any  thing  that  could  be  faid  to  him,  his  falfe 
reafoning  upon  it,  his  feeming  dullnefs  and  in¬ 
gratitude,  and  infenfibility,  as  well  as  the  bad 
choice  which  he  made  of  his  company,  may  all  be 
traced,  diredtly  or  indiredtly,  to  this  principal 
caufe,  that  the  lad  was  a  poor  low-lifed  fellow, 
that  loved  to  grovel  in  the  dirt,  and  had  no  kind 
of  heart,  or  inclination,  to  get  into  a  good  fervice. 
And  need  we  fear  to  remark,  that  in  this  alfo 
the  likenefs  holds,  and  that  we  have  here  ef- 
pecially,  the  exadt  pidture  of  the  irreligious 

,  by  thofe  who  would  defend 
the  charadters  of  irreligious  people,  that  one  man, 
for  inflance,  happens  merely  to  be  rather  inattentive 
to  the  Gofpel  ;  that  another  is  unfortunately  drawn 
out  of  the  way  of  it  by  what  is  thought  an  inno¬ 
cent  attendance  to  his  worldly  bufinefs  ;  a  third 
gravely  tells  you  that  he  finds  a  difficulty  in  be-' 
lieving  it ;  a  fourth  contrives  fome  way  or  other 
to  pervert  it,  fo  as  to  get  no  good  from  it,  and 
feems  to  have  a  ftrange  twill  in  his  head  when¬ 
ever  he  reafons  upon  it ;  a  fifth  is  faid  to  be  a  man 
who  is  without  thofe  warm  feelings  which  are  fup- 
pofed  to  diftinguifh  thofe  who  affedlionately  em¬ 
brace  it;  and  of  a  fixth,  perhaps,  it  is  faid  by  fome 
fimple,  good-natured  relation,  or  acquaintance, 
that  the  man  has  a  good  heart  indeed,  but  that 
unluckily  he  has  fallen  into  bad  company ;  but 


perfon  f 

It  is  often  pie 


The  Beggarly  Boy 


let  it  be  remembered,  that  juft  thus  it  might  be 
pleaded,  that  this  beggarly  boy  was  by  turns  in¬ 
attentive  and  wrong-headed,  and  dull  of  feeling, 
as  well  as  ufed  to  bad  company.  Thefe  excufes, 
if  allowed  in  the  one  inftance,  Ihould  be  allowed 
equally  in  -the  other.  The  true  root  of  the  mat¬ 
ter  in  each  cafe  lies  deeper.  The  irreligious  man, 
like  the  boy  in  the  parable,  has,  in  the  worft  fenfe 
of  the  words,  a  bafe  and  low  mind :  like  him,  he 
has  no  heart  for  the  great  things  that  are  offered 
him;  he  has  no  heart  for  the  favour  of  God, 
for  the  honour  of  living  in  his  fervice,  for  the 
comforts  of  the  Golpel  in  this  world,  or  for  the 
gift  of  eternal  life.  Like  the  beggarly  boy,  he 
may  fay  what  he  will,  but  he  is  of  an  earthly, 
grovelling  fpirit,  and  the  true  explanation  of  the 
whole  matter  is,  that  as  the  one  is  inclined  to 
dirt,  fo  the  other  has  a  leaning  to  the  fide  of  fin. 
Do  you  think  that  if  this  beggarly  boy  had  loved 
cleanlinefs,  and  abominated  every  degree  of  dirt, 
he  would  have  remained  as  he  was?  No;  un¬ 
doubtedly  he  would  have  caught  at  the  oppor¬ 
tunity  offered  him ;  and  he  would,  as  it  were,  at 
all  hazards,  have  run  after  the  gentleman :  fo  if 
a  man  longs  to  be  freed  from  fin,  if  he  wilhes 
above  all  things  to  cleanfe  his  ways,  to  purify 
himfelf  even  as  God  is  pure,  and  to  become  holy 
as  God  is  holy,  do  you  think  he  will  not  catch  at 
the  Gofpel?  undoubtedly  he  will  do  fo.  Yes; 
for  it  will  be  fuited  in  every  part  of  it  to  the  ftate 
of  his  mind,  and  to  all  his  wants  and  wilhes  j  and 
therefore  why  Ihould  he  not  receive  it?  He 
will  leel  his  way,  indeed,  but  he  will  by  degrees 

Ra 


3*6^  The 'Beggarly  Bey. 

heartily  embrace  every  doClrine  of  it.  This, 
then,  is  the  man  who  will  accept  God  for  his 
father,  Chrift  for  his  Saviour,  the  Holy  Spirit  for 
his  Sanctifier  and  Comforter ;  the  Scriptures  will 
be  his  guide ;  the  World  will  be  no  more  to  him  • 
than  the  place  of  his  pilgrimage ;  his  fellow 
Chriftians  will  be  viewed  by  him  as  his  fellow 
travellers,  and  Heaven  will  be  his  home,  where 
he  hopes  to  be  joined  to  the  fpirit-s  of  juft  men 
made  perfect,  and  to  dwell  in  the  prefence  of  his 
Maker,  and  his  Saviour,  for  ever  and  ever. 

And  now.  Reader,  if  thou  art  one  who  haft 
hitherto  been  a  ftranger  to  religion,  and  haft  gone 
thy  dull  and  daily  round  without  any  thought  of 
the  matter,  for  once  thou  haft  been  met,  me- 
thinks,  on  thy  way,  like  this  beggarly  boy,  by  a 
voice  of  exhortation.  Even  in  this  little  tale, 
the  offer  of  the  Gofpel,  perhaps  rather  unex¬ 
pectedly,  hath  been  held  out  to  thee,  or  feme 
Hunt  at  lea^ft  may  have  been  given,  by  which,  if 
diou  wilt  attend  to  it,  thou  fhalt  furely  find  in  the 
end  that  thy  whole  condition  fhall  be  altered; 
and  yet,  perhaps,  like  this  beggarly  boy,  thou  art 
now  returning  for  the  remainder  of  this  very  day 
to  thy  old  habits,  juft  as  if. thou  hadft  not  read 
this  flory.  Some  bufinefs  calls  thee,  or  feme 
pleafure  waits  thee,  fo  farewell  to  all  thought  of 
the  Gofpel,  for  thou  mu  ft  be  gone. — But,  me- 
thinks,  as  thou  departed,  thy  heart  fhould  approve 
of  this  beggarly  boy,  fhould  admire  his  wildom, 
and  praife  the  turn  of  his  fpirit,  for  if  thou  goeft 
away  condemning  him,  thou  condemned  thyfelf 
ajfo.  Oh !  no  :  his  cafe  is  too  bad  to  be  de¬ 
fended  ;  for  he,  who,  in  a  worldly  fenfe,  refufes  a 


The  Beggarly  Boy,  365 

good  offer ,  is  let  dqwn  fora  fool,  by  common  con- 
lent  of  all  men.  But  ah!  how  few  will  be  per- 
fuaded  to  ufe  the  fame  r e a fo n i n gi  u.  r  e  1  i  g  i  o  n ,,  which 
they  apply  to  all  their  worldly  matters  !  How  few 
will  fee  with  the  fame  eyes,  and  try  by  the  fame 
rule,  their  temporal,  and  their  eternal  interefts  i 
So  true  is  that  faying  of  the  Scriptures,  Cf  that  the 
children  of  this  world  are  wafer  in  their  generation* 
than  die  children  of  light 


THE 


PILGRIMS: 

AN  ALLEGORY. 


Methought  I  was  once  upon  a  time  tra¬ 
velling  through  a  certain  land  which  was  very  full 
or  people,  but  what  was  rather  odd  not  one  of 
all  this  multitude  was  at  home ;  they  were  all 
bound  to  a  far  diftant  country.  Though  it  was 
permitted  by  the  Lord  of  the  land  that  thefe  Pil¬ 
grims  might  aflbciate  together  for  their  prefen t 
mutual  comfort  and  convenience ;  and  each  was 
not  only  allowed,  but  commanded  to  do  the 
others  all  the  fervices  he  could  upon  their  jour¬ 
ney,  yet  it  was  decreed,  that  every  individual 
traveller  muft  enter  the  far  country  flngly. — 
There  was  a  great  gulf  at  the  end  of  the  journey 
which  every  one  muft  pafs  alone,  and  at  his  own 
rifk,  and  the  friendfhip  of  the  whole  united  world 
could  be  of  no  ufe  in  (hooting  that  gulf.  The  exaft 
time  when  each  was  to  pafs  was  not  known  to  any; 
this  the  Lord  always  kept  a  clofe  fecret  out  of 
kindnefs,  yet  ftill  they  were  as  fure  that  the  time 
muft  come,  and  that  at  no  very  great  diftance,  as 
if  they  had  been  informed  of  the  very  moment. 
Now,  as  they  knew  they  were  always  liable  to  be 
called  away  at  an  hour’s  notice,  one  would  have 
thought  they  would  have  been  chiefly  employed 


The  Pilgrims . 


in  packing  up,  and  preparing,  and  getting  every 
thing  in  order.  Not  they  indeed.  It  was  almoft  the 
only  thing  which  they  did  not  think  about. 

Now  I  only  appeal  to  you,  my  readers,  if  any 
of  you  are  fetting  out  upon  a  little  common  jour¬ 
ney,  if  it  is  only  to  London  or  York,  is  not  all 
your  leifure  time  employed  in  fettling  your  b u fi¬ 
ne  fs  at  home,  and  packing  up  every  little  necef- 
fary  for  your  expedition  ?  And  does  not  the  fear 
of  negleding  any  thing  you  ought  to  remember, 
or  may  have  occafion  for,  haunt  your  mind,  and 
fo  me  times  even  intrude  upon  you  unfeafonably  ? 
And  when  you  are  actually  on  your  journey,  es¬ 
pecially  if  you  have  never  been  to  that  place 
before,  ©r  are  likely  to  remain  there,  donh  you 


employments  of  the  place  ,,  and  m  with  to  know 
a  little  what  fort  of  a  city  London  or  York  is?— 
Don’t  you  wonder  what  k  doing  there,  and  whe¬ 
ther  you  are  properly  qualified  for  the  bufineli, 
or  the  company  you  expedl  to  be  engaged  in  ? — - 
Do  you  never  look  at  the  map,  or  confute 
Brookes’s  Gazetteer  ?  And  don’t  you  try  to  pick 
up  from  your  fellow-padengers  in  the  ftage-coach 
any  little  information  you  can  get  ?  And  though 
you  may  be  obliged,  out  of  civility,  to  converfe 
with  them  on  common  fubjeds,  yet  do  not  your 
fecret  thoughts  ftiil  run  upon  London  or  York, 

.  its  bufinefs,  or  its  pleafures  ?  And  above  all,  if 
you  are  likely  to  fet  out  early,  are  you  not  afraid 
of  over-deeping,  and  does  not  that  fear  keep  you 
upon  the  watch,  fo  that  you  are  commonly  up 
and  ready  before  the  porter  comes  to  fummoix 

R  4 


the  Pilg  rims.  ,  j 

you?  Reader!  if  this  be  your  cafe,  how  fur- 
pnled  will  you  be  to  hear  that  the  travellers  to 
the  far  country  have  not  half  your  prudence, 
though  bound' on  a  journey  of  infinitely  more  im¬ 
portance,  to  a  land  where  nothing  can  be  lent  after 
tnern,  and  which,  when  they  are  once  fettled,  all 
errors  are  irretrievable. 

I  obferved  that  thefe  pilgrims,  inftead  of  being 
upon  the  watch,  left  they  fhould  be  ordered  off 
unprepared  inftead  of  laying  up  any  provifion, 
or  even  making  memorandums  of  what  they 
would  bedikely  to  want,  fpent  moft  of  their  time 
in  crowds,  either  in  the  way  of  traffic  or  diver¬ 
sion.  At  firft,  when  I  law  them  fo  much  engaged 
in  converfing  with  each  other,  L  thought  it  a  good 
f?gn,  and  liftened  attentively  to  their  talk,  not 
doubting  but  the  chief  turrj  of  it  would  be  about 
the  climate,  or  treafures,  or  fociety  they  fhould 
probably  meet  with  in  the  far  country.  I  fup-’ 
poled  they-  might  be  alfo  di  feu  fling  about  the  beft 
and  lafeft  road  to  it,  and  that  each  was  availing 
himfelf  of  the  knowledge  of  his  neighbour,  on 
a  fubjedt  of  equal  importance  to  all.  I  liftened 
to  every  party,  but  in  fcarcely  any  did  I  hear  one 
word  about  the  land  to  which  they  were  bound, 
tnough  it  was  their  home,  the  place  where  their 
whole  yntereft,  expedlatioff,  and  inheritance. lay ; 
to  which  alfo  great  part  of  their  friends  were 
gone  before,  and  whither  they  were  fure  all  the 
reft  would  follow.  Inftead  of  this,  their  whole 
talk  was  about  the  bufmefs,  or  the  pleafures,  or 
the  fafhions,  of  the  ftrange  country  which  they 
were  merely  palling  through,  and  in  which  they 
had  not  one  foot  of  land  which  they  were  fure  of 


The  Pilgrims' , 


Calling  their  own  for  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour.- 
What  little  edate  they  had  was perjonal .-and  not- 
real,  and-  that  was  a  mortgagedJ  life-hold  tene-- 
rnent  of  clay,  not  properly  their  own,  but  only'; 
lent  to  them  "  on  a  fhort  uncertain  leafe,  of  which,- 
three fcore  years  and  ten  was  considered  as-  the 
longed  period,  and  very  few  indeed  lived  in  it- 
to  the  end  of  the  term  -}  for  this  was  always  at  the 
will  of  the  Lord ,  part  of  whofe  prerogative  it  was5»- 
that  he  could  take  away  the  leafe  at  pleafure^ 
knock  down  the.douted  inhabitant  at  a  fmgle  blow>v 
and  turn  out  the  poor  fhivering,  helpiefr  tenant, 
naked,  to  that  far  country  for  which  he  had  made- 
no  provifion.  Sometimes,  in  order  to  quicken 
the  Pilgrim  in  his  preparation,  the  Lord  would, 
break  down  the  tenement  by  How  degrees,  fame-- 
times  he  would  let  it  tumble  by  its  own. natural 
decay,  for  as  it  was  only  built  to  lad  a  certain 
term,  it  would  fometimes  grow  fo  uncomfortable 
bv  increafins  dilapidations,  even  before  the  ordi- 
nary  leafe  was  our,  -that  the  lodging  was  hardly^ 
worth  keeping,  though  the  tenant  could  feldom* 
be  periuaded  to  think  fo,  but  fondly  clung  to  it- 
to  the  lad.  Fird  the  thatch  on  the  top  of  the.; 
tenement  changed  colour,  then  it  fell  off  and  left, 
the  roof  bare  ;  then,  fc  the  grinders  ceafed  becaufe, 
they  were,  few  f  the r*.  the  windows  became  fa, 
darkened  that  the  owner  could  fcarcely  fee  through 
them  i  then  one  prop  fell  away,  then  another^ 
then  the  uprights  became  bent,  and  the  whole 
fabric  trembled  and  tottered,  with  every  other, 
fy  mp  tom  of  a  tailing  houfe.  On  fome  occaffons5» 
the  Lord  ordered  his  meffengers,  of  which  he.: 

‘  •  '  •  -  R  S 


37°  Pilgrims. 

had  a  great  variety,  to  batter,  injure,  deface,  and 
almoft  demolifh  the  frail  building  even  while  it 
feemed  new  and  ftrong ;  this  was  what  the  land¬ 
lord  called  giving  warning  ;  but  many  a  tenant 
would  not  take  warning,  and  was  fo  fond  of  flay¬ 
ing  where  he  was,  even  under  all  thefe  inconve¬ 
niences,  that  at  lafl  he  was  call  out  by  ejedlment, 
not  being  prevailed  on  to  leave  his  dwelling  in  a 
proper  manner,  though  one  would  have  thought 
the  fear  of  being  turned  out  would  have  whetted 
his  diligence  in  preparing  for  a  better  and  a  more 
enduring  inheritance .  For  though  the  people 
were  only  tenants  at  will  in  thefe  crazy  tenements, 
yet,  through  the  goodnefs  of  the  fame  Lord,  they 
were  allured  that  he  never  turned  them  out  of 
thefe  habitations  before  he  had  on  his  part  pro¬ 
vided  for  them  a  better,  fo  that  there  was  not  fuch 
another  landlord  in  the  world ;  and  though  their 
prefent  dwelling  was  but  frail,  being  only  (lightly 
run  up  to  ferve  the  occafion,  yet  they  might  hold 
their  future  poffefTion  by  a  mofl  certain  tenure, 
the  word  of  the  Lord  bimfeif,  which  was  entered 
in  a  covenant,  or  title-deed,  confiding  of  many 
fheets,  and  becaufe  a  great  many  good  things  were 
given  away  in  this  deed,  a  book  was  made  of  which 
every  foul  might  get  a  copy.  This  indeed  had 
not  always  been  the  cafe,  becaufe,  till  a  few  ages 
back,  there  had  been  a  fort  of  monopoly  in  the 
cafe,  and  “  the  wife  and  prudent/ *  that  is,  the 
cunning  and  fraudful,  had  hid  thefe  things  from 
the  “  babes  and  fucklings,”  that  is,  from  the  low 
and  ignorant,  and  many  frauds  had  been  pradlifed, 
and  the  poor  had  been  cheated  of  their  right;  fo 
that  not  being  allowed  to  read  and  judge  for 

6 


The  Pilgrims .  37  \ 

themfelves,  they  had  been  fadly  impofed  upon ; 
but  all  thefe  tricks  had  been  put  an  end  to  more 
than  two  hundred  years  when  I  palled  through 
the  country,  and  the  meaned  man  who  could  read 
might  then  have' a  copy,  To  that  he  might  fee 
himfelf  what  he  had  to  trull  to,  and  even  thofe 
who  could  not  read,  might  hear  it  read  once  or 
twice  every  week  at  lead,  without  pay,  by  learned 
men  whofe  buiinefs  it  was.  But  it  furprifed  me 
to  fee  how  few  comparatively  made  ufe  of  thefe 
valt  advantages.  Of  thofe  who  had  a  copy,, 
many  laid  it  carelefsly  by,  exprelfed  a  general  be¬ 
lief  in  the  truth  of  the  title-deed,  a  general  fatis- 
fadlion  that  they  fhould  come  in  for  a  lhare  of  the 
inheritance,  a  general  good  opinion  of  the  Lord 
whofe  word  it  was,  and  a  general  diipofition  to 
take  his  promife  upon  trull  ;  always,  however, 
intending,  at  a  convenient  feafon,  to  inquire  farther 
into  the  matter;  but  this  convenient  feafon  lei— 
dom  came,  and  this  negledt  of  theirs  was  con- 
ftrued  into  a  forfeiture  of  the  inheritance. 

At  the  end  of  this  country  lay  the  vad  gulf 
mentioned  before ;  it  was  lhadowed  over  by  a 
broad  and  thick  cloud,  which  prevented  the  pil¬ 
grims  from  feeing  in  a  diftindt  manner  what  was 
doing  behind  it,  yet  fuch  beams  of  brightnefs 
now  and  then  darted  through  the  cloud  as  enabled 
thofe  who  ufed  a  telefcope  provided  for  that  pur- 
pofe,  .to  fee  the  Juhftance  of  things  hoped  for ;  but 
it  was  not  every  one  who  could  make  ufe  of  this 
telefcope ;  no  eye  indeed  was  naturally  difpofed 
to  it;  but  an  earned  defire  of  getting  a  glimpfe 
of  the  invifible  realities,  gave  fuch  a  ftrength  and 

R  6 


37  2  The  P ilgri ms. 

fleadinefs  to  the  eye,  as  enabled  it  to  diicern  many 
things  which  could  not  be  feen  by  the  natural 
light.  Above  the  cloud  was  this  inscription,  The 
things  which  are  Jeen  are  temporal,  hut  the  things 
which  are  not  feen  are  eternaL  Of  thefe  laft  many 
glorious  defcriptions  had  been  given,  but  as  thofe 
fplendors  were  at  a  didance,  and  as.  the  pilgrims 
in  general  did  not  care  to  ufe  the  telefcope,  thefe 
diftant  glances  made  little  impreffion.  The  glo¬ 
rious  inheritance  which  lay  beyond  the  cloud,  was 
called.  The  things  above ,  while  a  multitude  of 
trifling  objects,  which  appeared  contemptibly 
final!  when  looked  at  through  the  telefcope,  wete 
called,  The  things  below.  Now  as  we  know  it  is 
nearnefs  which  gives  iize  and  bulk  to  any  objedt, 
it  was  not  wonderful  that  thefe  ill-judging  pil¬ 
grims  were  more  dr  lick  with  thefe  baubles  and  - 
trifles,  which,  by  lying  clofe  at  hand,  were  viflble 
and  tempting  to  the  naked  eye,  and  which  made 
up  the  fum  of  'The  things  below ,  than  with  the  re¬ 
mote  glories  of  The  things  above :  but  this  was 
chiefly  owing  to  their  not  making  ufe  of  the 
telefcope,  through  which,  if  you  examined 
thoroughly  The  things  below ,  they  feemed  to- 
Hi  rink  almoft  down  to  nothing,  while  The  things, 
above  appeared  the  more  beautiful  and  vad,  the 
more  the  telefcope  was  ufed.  But  the  furprifing 
part  of  the  dory  was  this,  not  that  the  pilgrims 
were  captivated  at  flrft  fight  with  The  things  below, 
for  that  was  natural  enough,  but  that' when  they 
had  tried  them  all  over  and  over,  and  found 
themfelves  deceived  and  difappointed  in  almod 
everyone  of  them,  it  did  not  at  all  ldlen  their 
fondnefs,  and  they  grafped  at  diem  again  with 


The  . Pilgrim K  37'j; 

the  fame  eagernefs  as  before.  There  were  fome 
gay  fruits  which  looked  alluring,  but  on  being 
opened  indead  of  a  kernel  they  were  found  to 
contain  rottennefs,  and  thofe  which  feemed  the 
fulled  often  proved  on  trial  to  be  quite  hollow 
and  empty.  Thofe  which  were  mod  tempting 
to  the  eye  were  often  found  to  be  wormwood  to 
the  tade,  or  poifon  to  the  do  roach,.  and  many 
dowers  that  feemed  mod  bright  and  gay  had  a 
worm  gnawing  at  the  root. 

Among  the  chief  attractions  of  The  Things  be¬ 
low ,  were  certain  little  lumps  of  yellow  clay,  on- 
which  almod  every  eye  and  every  heart  was  fixed. 
When  I  faw  the  variety  of  ufes  to  which  this 
clay  could  be  converted,  and  the  refpeff  which 
was  fhewn  to  thofe  who  could  ferape  together  the 
greated  number  of  pieces,  I  did  not  much  won¬ 
der  at  the  general  defire  to  pick*  up  fome  of 
them.  But  when  1  beheld  the  anxiety,  the  wake- 
fulnefs,  the  competitions,  the  contrivances,  the 
tricks,  the  frauds,  the  feuffiing,  the  pufhing,  the 
turmoiling,  the  kicking,  the  fhoving,  the  cheat¬ 
ing,  the  circumvention,  the  envy,  the  malignity, 
which  was  excited  by  a  defire  to  poffefs  this 
article ;  when  I  faw  the  general  fcramble  among 
thofe  who  had  little  to  get  much,  and  of  thole 
who  had  much  to  get  more,  then  1  could  not  help- 
applying  to  thefe  people  a.  Proverb  in  ufe 
among  us,  that  gold  may  he  bought  too  dear.— 
Though  I  lav/  that  there-  were  various  forts  of 
baubles  which  engaged  the  hearts  of  different 
travellers,  inch  as  an  ell  of  red  or  blue  ribbon,, 
for  which  fome  were  content  to  forfeit  their 
future  inheritance,  the  fin  of  Efau  without  Jiis 


374  -  7)5*  Pilgrims . 

temptation  of  hunger;  yet  the  yellow  clay  I  found 
was  the  grand  objed  for  which  moft  hands 
fcrambled  and  moft  fouls  were  rilked.  One 
thing,  was  extraordinary,  that  the  nearer  thefe 
people  were  to  being  turned  out  of  their  tene¬ 
ment,  the  fonder  they  grew  cf  thefe  pieces  of  clay, 
fo  that  I  naturally  concluded  they  meant  to  take 
the  clay  with  them  to  the  far  country;  but  I  loon 
learnt  this  clay  was  not  current  there,  the  Lord 
having  declared  to  thefe  Pilgrims,  that  as  they 
had  brought  nothing  into  this  world ,  they  could 
carry  nothing  out. 

I  inquired  of  the  different  people  who  were 
raifrng  the  various  heaps  of  clay,  fome  of  a  larger, 
fome  of  a  fmailer  fize,  why  they  difcovered  fuch 
unremitting  anxiety,  and’  for  whom  ?  Some, 
whofe  piles  were  immenfe,  told  me  they  were 
heaping  up  for  their  children ;  this  I  thought 
very  right,  till  on  cafting  my  eyes  round,  I  ob- 
ferved  many  of  the  children  of  thefe  very  people 
had  large  heaps  of  their  own.  Others  told  me  it 
was  for  their  granchildren ;  but  on  enquiry,  I 
found  thefe  were  not  yet  born,  and  in  many  cafes 
there  was  little  chance  that  they  ever  would. — 
The  truth,  on  a  clofe  examination,  proved  to  be, 
that  the  true  genuine  heapers  really  heaped  for 
themfelves ;  that  it  was  in  fad  neither  for  friend  or 
child,  but  to  gratify  an  inordinate  appetite  of  their 
own.  Nor  was  I  much  furprifed  after  this  to  lee 
thefe  yellow  hoards  at  length  canker ,  and  the  ruft 
of  them  become  a  witnejs  againfl  the  hoarders ,  and 
eat  their  fiejh  as  it  were  fire . 

Many,  however,  who  had  fet  out  with  a  high 
heap  of  their  father's  raifing,  before  they  had  got 


The  Pilgrims .  37$ 

one  third  of  their  journey  had  fcarcely  a  fingle 
piece  left.  As  I  was  wondering  what  had  caufed 
thefe  enormous  piles  to  vanifh  in  fo  fhort  a  time, 
I  fpied  fcattered  up  and  down  the  country  all  forts 
of  odd  inventions,  for  fome  or  other  of  which  the 
vain  polfeffors  of  the  great  heaps  of  clay  had 
trucked  and  bartered  them  away  in  fewer  hours 
than  their  anceftors  had  fpent  years  in  getting 
them  together.  O  what  a  ftrange  unaccountable 
medley  it  was  !  and  what  was  ridiculous  enough, 
I  obferved  that  the  greateil  quantity  of  the  clay 
was  always  exchanged  for  things  that  were  of  no 
ufe  that  I  could  dicover,  owing  I  fuppofe  to  my 
ignorance  of  the  manners  of  that  country. 

In  one  place  I  faw  large  heaps  exhaufted  in 
order  to  fet  two  idle  pampered  horfes  a  running ; 
but  the  worft  part  of  the  joke  was,  the  horfes  did 
not  run  to  fetch  or  carry  any  thing,  but  merely 
to  let  the  gazers  fee  which  could  run  fafteft.— 
Now  this  gift  of  fwiftnefs,  exercifed  to  no  one 
ufeful  purpofe,  was  only  one  out  of  many  in- 
fiances,  I  obferved  of  talents  ufed  to  no  end.  In 
another  place  I  faw  whole  piles  of  the  clay  fpent 
to  maintain  long  ranges  of  buildings  full  of  dogs, 
on  provifions  which  would  have  nicely  fattened 
fome  thoufands  of  pilgrims  who  faaly  wanted 
fattening,  and  whofe  ragged  tenements  were  out 
at  elbows,  for  want  of  a  little  help  to  repair  them* 
Some  of  the  piles  were  regularly  pulled  down 
once  in  feven  years  in  order  to  corrupt  certain 
needy  pilgrims  to  belie  their  confciences.  Others 
were  fpent  in  playing  with,  white  ftiff  bits  of  paper 
painted  over  with  red  and  black  fpots,  in  which  I 
thought  there  muft  be  fome  conjuring,  becaufe 


The  Pilgrims , 


the  very  touch  of  thefe  painted  paRe boards  made 
the  heaps  fly  from  one  to  another,  and  back 
again  to  the  fame,  in  a  way  that  natural  caufes 
could  not  account  for.  There  was  another  proof 
that  there  muft  be  rome  magic  in  this  bufinefs,. 
which  was,  that  if  a  pafte board  with  red  fpots  fell 
into  a  hand  which  wanted  a  black  one,  the  perfon- 
changed  colour,  his  eyes  Rallied  fire,  and  he  dis¬ 
covered.  other  fymptoms  of  madnefs,  which 
Shewed  there  was  fome  witchcraft  in  the  cafe.— 
Thefe  clean  little  pasteboards,  as  harmlefs  as  they 
looked,  had  the  wonderful  power  of  pulling  down 
the  higheft  piles  in  lefs  time  than  all  the  other 
caufes  put  together.  I  obferved  that  many  fmall 
piles  were  given  in  exchange  for  an  enchanted 
liquor,  which  when  the  purchafer  had  drank  to  a> 
little  excefs,  he  loft  all  power  of  managing  the 
reft  of  his  heap  without  lofing  the  love  of  it. 

Now  I  found  it  was  the  opinion  of  fober  pil¬ 
grims,  that  either  hoarding  the  clay,  or  trucking 
it  for  any  fuch  purpofes  as  the  above,  was  thought 
exadlly  the  fame  offence  in  the  eyes  of  the  Lord, 
and  it  was  expedled  that  when  they  Should  .come 
under  his  more  immediate  jurifdi&ion  in  the  far 
country,  the  penalty  annexed  to  hoarding  and1 
fquandering  would  be  nearly  the  fame.  While  I 
examined  the  countenances  of  the  owners  of  the 
heaps,  I  obferved  that  thole  who  1  well  knew 
never  intended  to  make  any  ufe  at.  all  of  their 
heap,  were  far  more  terrified  at  the  thought  of 
lofing  it,  or  of  toeing  torn  from  it,  than  thofe 
were  who  were  employing  it  in  the  moft  ufefuf 
manner.  Thofe  who  beft:  knew  what  to  do  with 
it,  fet  their  hearts  leaft  upon  it,  and  were  always 


The  Pilgrims . 


mod  willing  to  leave  it.  But  fuch  riddles  were 
common  in  this  odd  country. 

Now  I  wondered  why  thefe  pilgrims,  who  were 
naturally  made  ere 61  with  an  eye  formed  to  look 
up  to  The  things  above ,  yet  had  their  eyes  almoft 
conftantly  bent  in  the  other  diredfion  riveted  to 
the  earth,  and  fattened  on  things  below ,  juft  like 
thofe  animals  who  walk  on  all-fours.  I  wTas  told 
they  had  not  always  been  fubjedt  to  this  weaknefs 
of  fight  and  pronenefs  to  earth  :  That  they  had 
originally  been  upright  and  beautiful,  having 
been  created  after  the  image  of  the  Lord,  who 
was  himfelf  the  perfedtion  of  beauty ;  that  he  had, 
at  fir  ft,  placed  them  in  a  far  fuperior  fituation, 
which  he  had  given  them  in  perpetuity;  blit 
that  their  firft  anceftors  fell  from  it  through  pride 
and  carelefthefs  ;  that  upon  this  the  freehold  was 
taken  away,  they  loft  their  original  ftrength, 
brightnefs,  and  beauty,  and  were  driven  into  this 
ftrange  country ;  where  however  they  had  every 
opportunity  given  them  of  recovering  their  health* 
'  and  the  Lord's  favour  and'  likenefs ;  for  they 
were  become  fo  disfigured,  and  were  grown  fio 
unlike  him,  that  you  would  hardly  believe,  they 
were  his  own  children,  though,  in  fome,  the  re- 
femblance  was  become  again  viable.  The  Lord, 
however,  was  fo  merciful,  that  inftead  of  giving 
them  up  to  the  dreadful  confequences  of  their 
own  folly,  as  he  might  have  done  without  any 
impeachment  of  his  juftice,  that  he  gave  them 
immediate  comfort,  and  promiled  them,  that 
in  due  time  his  own  Son  fhould  come  'down  and 
reftore  them  to  the  future  inheritance  which  he 
fhould  purchafe  for  them.  And  now  it  was  that 
in  order  to  keep  up  their  fpirits,  after  they  had 


37$  The  Pilgrims : 

| 

loft  their  eftate  through  the  folly  of  their  anceft 
tors,  that  he  began  to  give  them  a  part  of  their 
former  Title  Deed.  He  continued  to  fend  them 
portions  of  it  from  time  to  time  by  different 
faithful  fervants,  whom,  however,  thefe  ungrate¬ 
ful  people  generally  ufed  ill,  and  fome  of  whom 
they  murdered.  But  for  all  this  the  Lord  was  fo 
very  forgiving,  that  he  at  length  fent  thefe  muti¬ 
neers  a  Proclamation  of  full  and  free  pardon  by 
his  Son,  who  though  they  ufed  him  in  a  more 
cruel  manner  than  they  had  done  any  of  his  ler- 
vants,  yet  after  bavin gfinifbed  the  work  his  Father 
had  given  him  to  do ,  went  back  into  the  far  country 
to  prepare  a  place  for  all  them  who  believe  in 
him 5  and  there  he  iff  11  lives;  begging  and  plead¬ 
ing  for  thole  unkind  people  whom  he  Hill  loves 
and  forgives,  and  wifi  reftore  to  the  purchafed 
inheritance  on  the  eafy  terms  of  their  being  heartily 
forty  for  what  they  have  done,  thoroughly  dehrous 
©f  pardon,  and  con  vinced  that  He  is  able  and  willing 
to  five  to  the  utmoft  all  them  that  come  unto  him. 

I  law,  indeed,  that  many  old  offenders  appeared 
to  be  forry  for  what  they  had  done;  that  is,  they 
did  not  like  to  be  puniflhed  for  it.  They  were 
willing  enough  to  be  delivered  from  the  penalty 
of  their  fin,  but  they  did  not  heartily  wifh  to  be 
delivered  from  the  power  of  it.  Many  declared, 
in  the  moft  public  manner,  once  every  week,  that 
they  were  very  forry  they  had  done  amifs ;  that 
they  had  erred  and  ft  rayed  like  loft  ftoeep ;  but  it 
was  not  enough  to  declare  their  forrow  ever  fo 
often,  if  they  gave  no  other  fign  of  their  peni¬ 
tence.  For  there  was  fo  little  truth  in  them,  that 
the  Lord  required  other  proofs  of  their  fincerity 


The  Pilgrims .  379 

be  fide  their  own  word,,  for  they  often  lied  with 
their  lips  and  dilfembled  with  their  tongue.  But 
thofe  who  profefifed  to  be  penitents  were  neither 
allowed  to  raife  heaps  of  clay,  by  circumventing 
their  neighbours,  or  to  keep  great  piles  lying^by 
them  ufelefs ;  nor  muft  they  barter  them  for  any 
of  thofe  idle  vanities  which  reduced  the  heaps  on 
a  fudden :  for  I  found  that  among  the  grand  ar¬ 
ticles  of  future  reckoning,  the  ufe  they  had  made 
of  the  heaps  would  be  a  principal  one. 

I  was  lorry  to  obierve  many  of  the  fairer  part 
of  thefe  Pilgrims  fpend  too  much  of  their  heaps 
in  adorning  and  beautifying  their  tenements  of 
clay,  in  painting,  white-walhing,  and  enamel¬ 
ing  them.  All  thofe  tricks,  however,  did  not 
preferve  them  from  decay,  and  when  they  grew 
old,  they  even  looked  worfe  Ibr  all  this  coffc  and 
.  vamilh.  Some,  however,  adfed  a  more  feofible 
part,  and  fpent  no  more  upon  their  mouldering 
tenements  than  jolt  to  keep  them  whole  and 
clean,  and  in  good  repair,  which  is  what  every 
tenant  ought  to  do  ;  and  I  obferved  that  thole 
who  were  moderate  in  the  care  of  their  own  te¬ 
nements,  were  molt  attentive  to  repair  and  warm 
the  ragged  tenements  of  others.  But  none  did 
this  with  much  zeal  or  acceptance,  but  thofe  who 
had  acquired  a  habit  of  overlooking  the  things 
below ,  and  who  alfo  by  the  conftant  ufe  of  the 
Telefcope,  had  got  their  natural  weak  and  dim 
fight  fo  (lengthened,  as  to  be  able  to  dilcern 
pretty  diftin&ly  the  nature  of  the  things  above , 
The  habit  of  fixing  their  eyes  on  thefe  glories 
made  all  the  fhining  trifles,  which  compofe  the 
mafs  of  things  below ,  at  laft  appear  in  their  own 


3 60  The  Pilgrims . 

diminutive  littleqefs.*  For  it  was  in  this  cafe 
particularly  true,  that  things  are  only  big  or 
little  by. companion;  and  there  was  no  other  way 
of  making  the  things  below  appear  as  final!  as 
they  ready  were,  but  by  comparing  them,  by 
means  of  the  Telefcope,  with  the  things  above. 
But  I  obferved  that  the  falfe  judgment  of  the 
Pilgrims  ever  kept  pace  with  their  wrong  prac¬ 
tices,^  for  rhofe  who  kept  their  eyes  faflened  on 
tne  things  below ,  were  reckoned  wife  in  their  ge¬ 
ne  lation,  while  the  few  who  looked  forward  to 
the  future  glories,  were  accounted  by  the  buftTers, 
or  heapers,  to  be  either  fools  or  mad. 

Well  molt  of  thefe  Pilgrims  wrent  on  in 
adorning  their  tenements,  adding  to  their  heaps, 
grafping  the  things  below  as  if  they  would  never 
let  . them  go,  (hutting  their  eyes  inftead  of  ufing 
their  Telefcope,  and  neglecting  their  Title  Deed, 
as  *r  t  was  the  Parchment  of  another  man ’3 
eftate,  and  not  their  own ;  till  one  after  another 
each  felt  his  tenement  tumbling  about  his  ears. — • 
Oh  !  then  what  a  buiy,  budding,  anxious,  terrify¬ 
ing,  diffracting  moment  was  that  I  What  a  deal 
or  bufinefs  was  to  be  done,  and  what  a  11  range 
time  was  this  to  do  it  in  !  Now  to  fee  the  confu- 
fion  and  difmay,  occasioned  by  having  left  every 
thing,  to  the  lad  minute.  Fir  ft  fome  one  was 
lent  for,  to  make  over  the  yellow  heaps  to  ano¬ 
ther,  .wnich  the  heaper  now  found  would  be  of 
no  ufe  to  himfelf  in  (hooting  the  gulf ;  a  transfer 
which  ought  to  have  been  made  while  the  tene¬ 
ment  was  found.  Then  there  was  a  confutation 
between  two  or  three  rnafons  at  once,  perhaps  to 
try  to  patch  up  the  \£alls,  and  ftrengthen  the 


X 


1  he  Pilgrims. 

props,  and  (lop  the  decays  of  the  tumbling  te¬ 
nement  ;  but  not  till  the  mafons  were  forced  to 
declare  it  was  pad  repairing,  (a  truth  they  were 
rather  too  apt  to  keep  back)  did  the  tenant  feri- 
oufly  think  it  was  time  to  pack  up,  prepare,  and 
be  gone.  Then  what  fending  for  the  wife  men 
who  profelfed  to  explain  the  Tide  Deed;  And 
oh,,  what  remorfe  that  they  had  negle&ed  to  ex¬ 
amine  it  till  their  fenfes  were  too  confufed  for  fo 
weighty  a  bufmefs  !  What  reproaches,  or  what 
exhortations  to  others  to  look  better  after  their 
own  affairs!  Even  to  the  wifeft  of  the  inhabi¬ 
tants  the  falling  of  their  tenements  was  a  folemn 
thing;  folemn,  but  not  furprizing;  they  had  long" 
been  packing  up  and  preparing  ;  they  praifed 
their  Lord’s  goodnefs  that'  they  had  been  buffered 
to  day  fo  long  ;  many  acknowledged  the  mercy* 
of  their  frequent  warnings,  and  con  felled  that 
thofe  very  dilapidations  which  had  made  the  houfe 
uncomfortable  had  been  a  bldfing,  as  it  had  fet 
them  on  diligent  preparation  for  their  future  in- 
heritance ;  had  made  them  more  earned  in  exa¬ 
mining  their  title  to  it,  and  had  fet  them  on  fuch 
a  frequent  application  to  the  Telefcope,  that  The 
things  above  had  feemed  every  day  to  approach 
nearer  and  nearer.  Thefe  defired  not  to  be  un¬ 
ci  oathed  but  to  be  cloathed  upon,  for  they  knew  that 
if  their  frail  Tabernacle  was  diffolved,  they  had  an 
houfe  not  made  with  hands ,  eternal  in  the  heavens. 

Z. 

(  )  A-  _ 

*  •  V  .  -•  '  t  -  .  ;  .  ;  7 

•  .  .  -  '  *  v 

- 

*  * 

IK  -  ;•  *0 


THE 


Servant  Man  turned  Soldier ; 

OR, 

The  Fair  Weather  Chriftian. 

A  PARABLE. 


William  was  a  lively  young  fervant,  who 
lived  in  a  great  but  very  irregular  family .  His 
place  was,  on  the  whole,  agreeable  to  him,  and 
fuited  to  his  gay  thoughtlefs  temper.  He  found 
a  plentiful  table  and  a  good  cellar.  .  There  was, 
indeed,  a  good  deal  of  work  to  be  done,  though 
it  was  performed  with  much  diforder  and  confu- 
fion.  The  family  in  the  main  were  not  unkind 
to  him,  though  they  often  contradidled  and  eroded 
him,  efpecially  when  things  went  on  ill  with  them- 
feives.  This,  William  never  much  liked,  for 
he  was  always  fond  of  having  his  own  way. 
There  was  a  merry,  or  rather  a  noify  and  riotous 
fervants’  hall ;  for  diforder  and  quarrels  are  in¬ 
deed  the  ufual  effe&s  of  plenty  and  unreflrained 
indulgence.  The  men  were  fmart,  but  idle,  the 
rfiaids  were  fhowy,  but  licentious,  and  all  did 
pretty  much  as  they  liked  for  a  time,  but  the 
time  was  commonly  fhort.  The  wages  were 
reckoned  high,  but  they  were  feldom  paid,  and 
it  was  even  faid  by  fober  people,  that  the  mailer 


The  Servant  Man  turned  Soldier .  38 j 

was  infolvent  and  never  fulfilled  any  of  his 
flattering  engagements,  or  his  moil  pofitive  pro- 
mifes  ;  but  ftill,  notwithftanding  his  real  poverty, 
things  went  on  with  juft  the  lame  th ough tie  fine fs 
and  fplendor,  and  neither  mafters  or  lervants 
looked  beyond  the  jollity  of  the  prefent  hour. 

In  this  unruly  family  there  was  little  church 
going,  and .  ftill  lefs  praying  at  home.  They 
pretended,  it  is  true,  in  a  general  way,  to  believe 
in  the  Bible,  but  it  was  only  an  outward  pro- 
feflion ;  few  of  them  read  it  at  all,  and  even  of 
thofe  who  did  read  it  ftill  fewer  were  governed  by 
its  laws.  There  was  indeed  a  Bible  lying  on  the 
table  in  the  great  hall,  which  was  kept  for  the 
purpofe  of  adminiftering  an  oath,  but  was  feldom 
ufed  on  any  other  occafion ;  and  fome  of  the 
heads  of  the  family  were  of  opinion  that  this  was 
its  only  real  ufe,  as  it  might  ferve  to  keep  the 
lower  part  of  it  in  order. 

William,  who  was  fond  of  novelty  and  plea- 
fure,  was  apt  to  be  negligent  of  the  duties  of  the 
houfe.  He  ufed  to  ftay  out  on  his  errands,  and 
one  of  his  favourite  amufements  was  going  to 
the  parade  to  fee  the  foldiers  exercife.  He^faw 
with  envy  how  fmartly  they  were  drefted;  liftened 
with  rapture  to  the  mufic,  and  fancied  that  a  fol- 
dier  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  walk  to  and  fro 
in  a  certain  regular  order,  to  go  through  a  little 
eafy  exercife ;  in  fhort,  to  live  without  fighting, 
fatigue,  or  danger. 

O,  faid  he,  whenever  he  was  affronted  at  home, 

what  a  fine  thing  it  muft  be  to  be  a  foldier !  to 

be  fo  well  drefled,  to  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 

move  to  the  pleafant  found  of  fife  and  drum,  and 

;  9 


t 


38.4  The  Servant  Man  turned  Soldier . 

*  %  *  ■ 
to  have  fo  many  people  come  to  look  at  one,. 

and  admire  one  !  0  it  muft  he  a  fine  thing  to  he  a. 

foldier ! 

Yet  when  the  vexation  of  the  moment  was 
ov.ee,  he  found  fo  much  cafe  and  diverfion  in  his 
maker’s  houfe,  fo  limed  to  his  low  take  and  fen- 
fual  appetites,  that  he  thought  no  more  of  the 
matter.  He  forgot  the  glories  of  a  foldier,  and 
eagerly  returned  to  all  the  mean  gratifications  of 
the  kitchen.  His  evil  habits  were  but  little  at¬ 
tended  to  by  thofe  with  whom  he  lived ;  his 
faults,  among  which  were  lying  and  fwearing, 
were  not  often  corrected  by  the  family,  who  had 
little  objection  to  thofe  fins,  which  only  offended 

God,  and  did  not  much  affect  their  own  intereft 

^  * 

or  property.  And  except  that  William  was 
obliged  to  work  rather  more  than  he  liked,  he 
found  little,  while  he  was  young  and  healthy,  that 
was  very  difagreeable  in  this  fervice.  So  he 
went  on,  kill  thinking  however,  when  things 
went  a  little  crofs,  what  a  fine  thing  it  was  to  be 
a  foldier  1  At  lak  one  day  as  he  was  waiting  at 
dinner,  he  had  the  misfortune  to  let  fall  a  china 
clitli,  and  broke  it  all  to  peices.  It  was  a  curious 
d'ifh,  much  valued  by  the  family  as  they  pre¬ 
tended  ;  this  family  were  indeed  apt  to  fet  a  falfe 
fantakic  value  on  things,  and  not  to  ekimate 

them  bv  their  real  worth.  The  heads  of  the 
¥ 

family,  who  had  generally  been  rather  patient  and 
good-humoured  with  William,  as  I  faid  before, 
for  thofe  vices,  which  though  offenfive  to  God, 
did  not  touch  their  own  pocket,  now  fiew  out 
into  a  violent  paffion  with  him,  called  him  a  thou- 

3 


The  Servant  Man  turned  Soldier .  38$ 

fand  hard  names,  and  even  threatened  to  horfe- 
whip  him  for  his  fhamefui  negligence. 

William,  in  a  great  fright,  for  he  was  a  fad 
coward  at  bottom,  ran  dire&ly  out  of  the  houfe 
to  avoid  the  threatened  punifhmeht,  and  happen¬ 
ing  juft  at  that  very  time  to  pafs  by  the  parade 
where  the  foldiers  chanced  to  be  then  exercifing, 
his  refolution  was  taken  in  a  moment.  He  in- 
ftantly  determined  to  be  no  more  a  flave,  as  he 
called  it ;  he  would  return  no  more  to  be  fub- 
je6l  to  the  humours  of  a  tyrannical  family ;  no,  he 
was  refolved  to  be  free,  or  at  leaft,  if  he  mud 
ferve,  he  would  ferve  no  mafter  but  the  King. 

William,  who  had  now  and  then  happened  to 
hear  from  the  accidental  talk  of  the  foldiers,  that 
thofe  who  ferved  the  great  family  he  had  lived 
with,  were  flaves  to  their  tyranny  and  vices,  had 
alfo  heard,  in  the  fame  cafual  manner,  that  the 
fervice  of  the  King  was  'perfect  freedom.  Now  he 
had  taken  it  into  his  head  to  hope  that  this 
might  be  a  freedom  to  do  evil,  or  at  leaft  to  do 
nothing,  fo  he  thought  it  was  the  only  place  in  the 
world  to  fuit  him. 

A  fine  likely  young  fellow  as  William  was 
had  no  great  difficulty  to  get  enlifted.  The  few 
forms  were  loon  fettled,  he  received  the  bounty- 
noney  as  eagerly  as  it  was  offered,  took  the  oaths 
ff  allegiance,  and  was  joined  to  the  regiment, 
tnd  heartily  welcomed  by  his  new  comrades.  He 
yas  the  happieft  fellow  alive.  All  was  fmootli 
md  calm.  The  day  happened  to  be  very  fine, 

.nd  therefore  William  always  reckoned  upon  a 
ine  day.  Thefcene  was  gay  and  lively,  the  mu- 
£  cheerful  >  he  found  the  exercife  very  eafy,  and 

S 


386  The  Servant  Man  turned  Soldier, 

he  thought  there  was  little  more  exp e fed  from 
him. 

He  foon  began  to  flourifh  away  in  his  talk  ; 
and  when  he  met  with  any  one  of  his  old  fellow- 
fervants,  he  fell  a  prating  about  marches  and 
counter-marches,  and  blockades,  and  battles, 
and  fieges,  and  blood,  and  death,  and  triumphs, 
and.^  vi&ories,  all  at  random,  for  thefe  were 
words  and  phrafes  he  had  picked  up  without  at 
all  underftanding  what  he  faid.  He  had  no 
knowledge,  and  therefore  he  had  no  modefty ; 
he '  had  no  experience,  and  therefore  he  had  no 
fears. 

All  feemed  to  go  on  fwimmingly,  for  he  had 
had  as  yet  no  trial.  He  began  to  think  with  tri¬ 
umph  what  a  mean  life  he  had  efcaped  from  in 
the  old  quarrelfome  family,  and  what  a  happy, 
honourable  life  he  fhould  have  in  the  army.  O 
there  was  no  life  like  the  life  of  a  foldier  ! 

In  a  fhort  time,  however,  war  broke  out,  his 
regiment  was  one  of  the  firft  which  was  called 
out  to  ahlual  and  hard  fervice.  As  William  was 
the  moft  raw  of  all  the  recruits,  he  was  the  ftrflt  to 
murmur 'at  the  difficulties  and  hardfhips,  the  cold 
and  hunger,  the  fatigue  and  danger,  of  being  a 
foldier.  O  what  watchings,  and  perils,  and  trials, 
and  hardfhips,  and  difhculties,  he  now  thought 
attended  a  military  life  !  Surely,  faid  he,  I  could 
never  have  fufpeded  all  this  mifery  when  I  ufed 
to  fee  the  men  on  the  parade  in  our  town. 

He  now  found,  when  it  was  too  late,  that  all 
the  field-days  he  ufed  to  attend, , all  the  evolu¬ 
tions  and  exercifes  which  he  had  obferved  the 
foldiers  to  go  through  in  the  calm  times  of  peace 


The  Servant  man  turned  Soldier.  387 

and  fafety,  were  only  meant  to  fit,  train,  and 
qualify  them  for  the  adlual  fervice  which  they 
were  now  fent  out  to  perform  by  the  command  of 
the  King. 

The  truth  is,  William  often  complained  when 
there  was  no  real  hardship  to  complain  of ;  for 
the  common  troubles  mf  life  fell  out  pretty  much 
alike  to  the  great  family  which  William  had  left, 
and  to  the  foldiers  in  the  King's  army.  But  the 
fpirit  of  obedience,  difcipline,  and  felf-denial  of 
the  latter  feemed  hardfhips  to  one  of  William’s 
loofe  turn  of  mind.  When  he  began  to  murmur, 
lome  good  old  foldier  clapped  him  on  the  back, 
faying,  cc  cheer  up  lad,  it  is  a  kingdom  you  are 
to  drive  for,  if  we  faint  not ;  henceforth  there  is 
laid  up  for  us  a  great  reward,  we  have  the  King's 
word  for  it,  man.”  Wfilliam  obferved  that  to 
thofe  who  truly  believed  this,  their  labours  were 
as  nothing,  but  he  himfelf  did  not  at  the  bottom 
believe  it ;  and  it  was  obferved  of  all  the  foldiers 
who  failed,  the  true  caufe  was,  that  they  did  not 
really  believe  the  King's  promife;  He  was  fur- 
prifed  to  fee  that  thofe  foldiers,  who  ufed  to 
binder,  and  boad,  and  deride  the  adaults  of  the 
enemy,  now  began  to  fall  away  while  fuch  as 
had  faithfully  obeyed  the  King's  orders,  and  Be¬ 
lieved  in  his  wordy  were  fu darned  in  the  hour  of 
trial.  Thofe  who  had  traded  in  their  own  drength 
all  fainted  on  the  flighted  attack,  while  thofe  who 
had  put  on  the  armour  of  the  King's  providing,  the 
f wordy  and  the  fhieldy  and  the  helmet y  and  the 
hreaft-flatey  and  whofe  feet  were  food  according 
to  order,  now  cf  endured  hardfhip  as  good  fol- 
diefs,  and  were  enabled  to  fight  the  good  fight.” 

S  2 


388  The  Servant  Man  turned  Soldier , 

An  engagement  was  expected  immediately. 
The  men  were  ordered  to  prepare  for  battle. 
While  the  reft  of  the  corps  were  fo  preparing, 
William's  whole  thoughts  were  bent  on  con- 
tnving  how  he  might  defert.  But  alas  !  he  was 
watched  on  all  fides ;  he  could  not  poftibly  devife 
any  means  to  efcape.  The  danger  increafed 
every  moment :  the  battle  came  on.  William, 
who  had  been  fo  fure  and  confident  before  he 
entered,  flinched  in  the  moment  of  trial,  while  his 
more  quiet  and  lefs  boaftful  comrades  prepared 
boldly  to  do  their  duty.  William  looked  about 
on  all  fides,  and  faw  that  there  was  no  eye  upon 
him,  for  he  did  not  know  that  the  Kings  eye  was 
always  every  where  at  once.  He  at  iaft  thought 
he  fpied  a  chance  of  efcaping,  not  from  the 
enemy,  but  from  his  own  army.  While  he  was 
endeavouring  to  efcape,  a  ball  from  the  oppofite 
camp  took  off  his  leg.  As  he  fell,  the  firft 
words  which  broke  from  him  were  Alas  1  while 
I  was  in  my  duty  1  was  preferved,  but  in  the  very 
a 61  of  deferring  I  am  wounded.  He  lay  expedl- 
ing  every  moment  to  be  trampled  to  death,  but 
as  foon  as  the  confuflon  was  a  little  over,  he  was 
taken  off  the  field  by  fome  of  his  own  party,  laid 
in  a  place  of  fafety,  and  left  to  himfelf,  after  his 
wound  was  d  re  fled. 

The  fkirmifh,  for  it  proved  nothing  more, 
was  foon  over.  The  greater  part  of  the  regiment 
efcaped  in  fafety,  while  the  few  who  fell,  rejoiced 
that  they  fell  in  their  duty.  William,  in  the 
mean  time,  buffered  cruelly  both  in  mind  and 
body.  To  the  pains  of  a  wounded  foldier,  he 
added  the  difgrace  of  a  coward,  and  the  infamy 


The  Servant  Man  turned  Soldier *.  3%9 

of  a  deferter,  O,  cried  he,  why  was  I  fuch  a 
fool  as  to  leave  the  great  family  I  lived  in,  where 
there  was  meat  and  drink  enough  and  to  fpare, 
only  on  account  of  a  little  quarrel  ?  I  might  have 
made  up  that  with  them  as  we  had  done  our 
former  quarrels.  Why  did  I  leave  a  life  of 
cafe  and  pleafure,  where  I  had  only  a  little  rub 
now  and  then,  for  a  life  of  daily  difcipline  and 
conftant  danger  ?  Why  did  I  turn  foldier  ?  O, 
what  a  miferable  animal  is  a  foldier  ! 

As  he  was  fitting  in  this  weak  and  difabled 
condition,  uttering  the  above  complaints,  he  ob- 
ferved  a  venerable  old  officer,  with  thin  grey 
locks  on  his  head,  and  on  his  face  deep  wrinkles 
engraved  by  time,  and  many  an  honeft  fear  in- 
Aided  by  war.  William  had  heard  this  old 
officer  highly  commended  for  his  extraordinary 
courage  and  condud  in  battle,  and  in  peace  he 
ufed  to  fee  him  cool  and  colleded,  devoutly  em- 
ployed  in  reading  and  praying  in  the  interval 
of  more  adive  duties.  He  could  not  help  com¬ 
paring  this  officer  with  himfelf.  I,  laid  he, 
flinched  and  drew  back,  and  would  even  have  , 
deferted  in  the  moment  of  peril,  and  now  in 
return,  I  have  no  confolation  in  the  hour  of 
repofe  and  fafety.  I  would  not  fight  then,  I 
cannot  pray  now.  O  why  would  1  ever  think 
of  being  a  foldier  ?  He  then  began  afreffi  to 
weep  and  lament,  and  he  groaned  fo  loud  that  he 
drew  the  notice  of  the  officer  who  came  up  to 
him,  kindly  fat  down  by  him,  took  him  by  the 
hand,  and  inquired  with  as  much  affedion  as  if 
he  had  been  his  brother,  what  was  the  matter 
with  him,  and  what  particular  diftrefs,  more 


39°  The  Servant  Man  turned  Soldier . 

than  the  common  fortune  of  war,  it  was  which 
drew  from  him  fuch  bitter  groans  ?  I  know  fome- 
thing  of  forgery,  added  he,  let  me  examine  your 
wound,  and  affift  you  with  fuch  little  comforts  as 
I  can. 

William  at  once  faw  the  difference  between 
the  foldiers  in  the  King's  army,  and  the  people 
in  the  great  family  ;  the  latter  commonly  with¬ 
drew  their  kindnefs  in  ffeknefs  and  trouble,  when 
it  was  mod  wanted,  and  this  was  juft  the  very 
time  when  the  others  came  forward  to  affift.  He 
told  the  officer  his  little  hiftory,  .the  manner 
of  his  living  in  the  great  family,  the  trifling  caufe 
of  his  quarrelling  with  it,  and  the  flight  ground 
of  his  entering  into  the  King's  iervice.  Sir,  faid 
he,  I  quarrelled  with  the  family,  and  I  thought  I 
was  at  once  fit  for  the  army  :  I  did  not  know 
the  qualifications  it  required.  I  had  not  reck¬ 
oned  on  difcipline,  and  hardfhips,  and  felf-de- 
nial.  I  liked  well  enough  to  fing  a  loyal  long, 
or  drink  the  King’s  health,  but  I  find  I  do  not 
relifh  working  and  fighting  for  him,  though  I 
rafhly  promifed  even  to  lay  down  my  life  for  his 
fervice  if  called  upon,  when  I  took  the  bounty 
/money  and  the  oath  of  allegiance.  In  fhort,  fir, 
I  find  that  I  long  for  the  eafe  and  floth,  the  mer¬ 
riment  and  the  feafting  of  my  old  fervice;  I  find 
I  cannot  be  a  foldier,  and,  to  fpeak  truth,  I 
was  in  the  very  ad  of  deferting  when  I  wras 
flopped  fhort  by  the  cannon  ball.  So  that  I 
feel  the  guilt  of  deferting,  and  the  mifery  of  hav¬ 
ing  loft  my  leg  into  the  bargain. 

The  officer  thus  replied,— Your  ftate  is  that  of 
every  worldly,  irreligious  man.  Th  z  great  family 
you  ierved  is  a  juft  pidure  of  the  world.  The 


The  Servant  Man  turned  Soldier .  391 

wages  the  world  pro'mifes  to  thofe  who  are  wil¬ 
ling  to  do  its  work  are  high,  but  the  payment  is 
attended  with  much  difappointment ;  nay,  the 
world,  like  your  great  family,  is  in  itfelf  in- 
folvent,  and  in  its  very  nature  incapable .  of 
making  good  the  large  promifes,  and  of  paying 
the  high  rewards,  which  it  holds  out  to  tempt 
its  credulous  followers.  The  ungodly  world, 
like  your  family,  cares  little  for  church,  and  kill 
lefs  for  prayers  ;  and  confiders  the  Bible  rather 
as  an  inftrument  to  make  an  oath  binding,  in 
order  to  keep  the  vulgar  in  obedience,  than  as 
containing  in  itfelf  a  perfect  rule  of  faith  and 
p  raft  ice,  and  as  a  title-deed  to  heaven.  The 
generality  of  men  love  the  world  as  you  did  your 
fervice,  while  it  fmiles  upon  them,  and  gives 
them  eafy  work,  and  plenty  of  meat  and  drink  ; 
but  as  foon  as  it  begins  to  crofs  and  contradift 
them,  they  get  out  of  humour  with  it,  juft  as  you 
did  with  your  fervice.  They  then  think  its 
drudgery  hard,  its  rewards  low.  They  find  out 
that  it  is  high  in  its  expectations  from  them, 
and  flack  in  its  payments  to  them.  And  they 
begin  to  fancy  (becaufe  they  do  not  hear  religi¬ 
ous  people  murmur  as  they  do)  that  there  mu  ft 
be  fome  happinefs  in  religion.  The  world, 
which  takes  no  account  of  their  deeper  fins,  at 
length  brings  them  into  difcredit  for  fome  aft  of 
imprudence,  juft  as  your  family  overlooked 
your  lying  and  fwearing,  but  threatened  to  drub 
you  for  breaking  a  china  difh  ;  fuch  is  the  judg¬ 
ment  of  the  world  ;  it  patiently  bears  with  thofe 
who  only  break  the  laws  of  God,  but  feverely 
punifhes  the  fmalleft  negligence  by  which  its  own 


392  The  S ervant  Man  turned  Soldier. 

property  is  injured.  The  world  fooner  pardons 
the  breaking  ten  commandments  of  God,  than 
even  a.  china  difh  of  its  own. 

f0I?e  cro*s  or  °Ppofition,  worldly  men, 
as  I  fed !  before,  begin  to  think  how  much  con¬ 
tent  and  cheerfulnefs  they  remember  to  have 
e.en  ln  religious  people.  They,  therefore,  be- 
gin  to  fancy  that  religion  muft  be  an  eafy  and  de¬ 
lightful,  as  well  as  a  good  thing.  They  have 
beard  that  “her  ways  are  ways  of  pleafantnefs, 
and  all  her  paths  are  peace  and  they  perfuade 
them  fe  Ives,  that  by  this  is  meant  worldly  plea¬ 
fantnefs  and  fenfual  peace.  They  refolve  at  length 
to  try  it,  to  turn  their  back  upon  the  world,  toen- 
gage  in  the  fervice  of  God,  and  turn  chriftians ; 
jult  as  you  relolved  to  leave  your  old  fervice,  to 

enter  into  the  fervice  of  the  King,  and  turn  fol. 

ciier.  But  as  you  quitted  your  place  in  a  paffion, 
io  they  leave  the  world  in  a  huff.  They  do  not 
count  the  coft.  They  do  not  calculate  upon  the 
darling  _  fins,  the  habitual  pleafures,  the  ea fe 
and  vanities  which  they  undertake,  by  their  new 
engagements,  to  renounce,  any  more  than  you 
counted  what  indulgences  you  were  going'  to 
give  up,  when  you  quitted  the  luxuries  and  idle- 
nefs  of  your  place,  to  enlift  in  the  loldier’s  war- 
fare.  They  have,  as  I  faid,  feen  chriftians 
cheerful,  and  they  miftook  the  ground  of  their 
cheerfulnefs;  they  fancied  it  arofe  not  becaufe, 
through  grace,  they  had  conquered  difficulties’ 
but  becaufe  they  had  no  difficulties  in  their 
paffage.  They  fancied  that  religion  found  the 
road  fmooth,  whereas  it  only  helps  the  fufferer 
to  bear  with  a  rough  road  without  complaint. 


The  Servant  Man  turned  Soldier .  393 

They  do  not  know  that  thtfe  Chriflians  are  of 
good  cheer,  not  becaufe  the  w'orld  is  free  from 
tribulation,  but  becaufe  Thrift,  their  captain,  has 
c<  overcome  the  world. ’*  But  the  irreligious 
man,  who  has  only  feen  the  outfide  of  a  Chrif- 
tian  in  his  worldly  intercourfe,  knows  little  of  his 
lecret  conflicts,  his  trials,  his  lelf-denials,  his  war¬ 
fare  with  the  world  without,  and  with  his  own  cor¬ 
rupt  defires  within. 

The  irreligious  man  quarrels  with  the  world, 
on  fome  fuch  occafi.on  as  you  did  with  your  place. 
He  now  puts  on  the  outward  forms  and  ceremo¬ 
nies  of  religion,  and  affumes  the  badges  of  Chris¬ 
tianity,  jufl  as  you  were  ftruck  with  the  fhows 
of  a  field  day;  juft  as  you  were  pleafed  with 
the  mufic  and  the  marching, 'and  put  on  the 
cockade  and  the  red  coat.  All  fee  ms  fmooth  for 
a  little  while.  He  goes  through  the  outward  ex- 
erciles  of  a  Chriftian,  a  degree  of  credit  attends 
his  new  profcffion,  but  he  never  fuipedts  there 
is  either  difficulty  or  difcipline  attending  it ;  he 
fancies  religion  is  a  thing  for  talking  about,  and 
not  a  thing  to  engage  the  heart  and  the  lire.  He 
never  fufpe&s  that  all  the  pfalm-finging  he  joins 
in,  and  the  fermons  he  hears,  and  the  other 
means  he  is  ufing,  are  only  as  the  exercifes  and 
the  evolutions  of  the  foldiers,  to  fit  and  prepare 
him  for  adtual  fervice ;  and  that  thefe  means  are 
no  more  religion  itfelf,  than  the  exercifes  and 
evolutions  of  your  parade  were  real  warfare. 

At  length  fome  trial  arifes.  This  nominal- 
Cbriftian  is  called  to  differ  from  the  world  in 
fome  great  point;,  fomething  happens  which 
may  ftrike  at  his  comfort,  or  his  credit,  or  fecular 

s  5 


V 


3  94  The  Servant  Man  tamed  Soldier. 

fecurity.  This  cools  his  zeal  for  religion,  juft  as 
the  view  of  an  engagement  cooled  your  courage 
as  a  foldier. :  He  finds  he  was  only  angry  with 
the  world,  he  was  not  tired  of  it ;  he  was  out 
of  humour  with  the  world,  not  becaufe  he  had 
feen  through  its  vanity  and  emptinefs,  but  be¬ 
caufe  the  world  was  out  of  humour  with  him. 
He  finds  that  it  is  an  ealy  thing  to  be  a  fair- 
weather  Chriflian,  bold,  where  there  is  nothing 
to  be  done,  and  confident  where  there  is  nothing 
to  be  feared.  Difficulties  tinmafk  him  to  others  ; 
temptations  unmafk  him  to  himfelf ;  he  dilcovers, 
that  though  he  is  a  high  profeffior,  he  is  no 
Chriflian;  juft  ' as  you  found  out  that  your  reel 
coat,  and  your  cockade,  your  ffioulder-knot,  and 
your  mufket,  did  not  prevent  you  from  being  a 
coward. 

Your  mifery  in  the  military  life,  like  that  of 
the  nominal  Chriflian,  arofe  from  your  love  of 
eafe,  your  cowardice,  and  your  felf-ignorance. 
You  ruffied  into  a  new  way  of  life  without  try¬ 
ing  after  one  qualification  for  it.  A  total  change 
of  heart  and  temper  were  necefifary  for  your  new 
calling.  With  new  views  and  new  principles  the 
foldier’s  life  would  have  been  not  only  eafy  but 
delightful  to  you.*  But  while,  with  a  new  pro- 
feffion,  you  retained  your  old  nature,  it  is  no 
wonder  if  all  -difcipline  feemed  intolerable  to 
yon.  ;  ‘ 

The  true  Chriflian,  like  the  brave  foldier,  is 
fuppd’r’ted  under  dangers  by  a •  ftrong  faith,  that 
"the  fruits  of  that  vi£lory  for  which  he  fights  will 
be  fafety,  peace,"  and  "  glory.  But, -alas  !  the 
pleafures  of  this  world  are  prefent  and  vifible; 

9 


The  Servant  Man  turned  Soldier .  391 

the  kingdom  and  the  crown  for  which  he  drives 
are  remote  ;  becaufe  they  are  diftant,  he  is  apt  to 
think  them  uncertain.  He  is  therefore  apt  to  fail, 
becaufe  nothing  fhort  of  a  lively  faith  can  out- 
weigh  the  prefent  temptation,  and  teach  him  to 
prefer  the  future  joys  of  conqueft  to  the  prefent 
pleafures  of  floth. 

Whether  William  went  back  to  his  old  fervice, 
or  was  received  again  into  the  army,  may  be 
known  hereafter. 

Z, 


&  ■ 


SORROWS  OF  YAMBA 


OR,  THE: 

Negro  Woman’s  Lamentation, 

To  the  Tune  of  Hojter’s  GhoJi% 


1  N  St.  Lucie’s  difont  ifle. 

Still  with  Afric’s  love  I  burn ; 

Parted  many  a  thoufand  mile. 

Never,  never  to  return. 

Come,  kind  Death  1  and  give  me  reft; 

Yamba  has  no  friend  but  thee  ; 

Thou  canft  eafe  my  throbbing  breaft ; 
Thou  canft  fet  the  Priloner  free. 

Down  my  cheeks  the  tears  are  dripping* 
Broken  is  my  "heart  with  grief ; 
Mangled  my  poor  ftefh  with  whipping. 
Come,  kind  Death  l  and  bring  relief  . 

Born  on  Afric’s  golden  coaft,. 

Once  I  was  as  bleft  as  you  $ 

Parents  tender  I  could  boaft, 

Huiband  dear,  and  children  too* 

Whity  man  he  came  from  far. 

Sailing  o’er  the  briny  flood 
Who,  with,  help  of  Britifh  Tar, 

Buys  up  humanfldh  and  blood. 


/ 


The  Sorrows  of  Tamba. 

With  the  baby  at  my  bread 
(Other  two  were  deeping  by) 

In  my  hut  I  fat  at  reft, 

With  no  thought  of  danger  nigh. 

From  the  bufh  at  even- tide, 

Rufh’d  the  fierce  man-dealing  crew  ; 

Seiz’d  the  children  by  my  fide. 

Seiz’d  the  wretched  Yamba  too. 

Then  for  love  of  filthy  gold. 

Straight  they  bore  me  to  the  fea, 

Cramm’d  me  down  a  Slave-fhip’s  hold. 
Where  were  hundreds  ftow’d  like  me. 

Naked  on  the  plat--form  lying. 

Now  we  crofs  the  tumbling  wave  ; 

Shrieking,  fickening,  fainting,  dying; 
Deed  of  fhame  for  Britons  brave  ! 

At  the  favage  Captain’s  beck, 

Now,  like  brutes,  they  make  us  prance 

Smack  the  cat  about  the  deck. 

And  in  fcorn  they  bid  us  dance. 

Naufeous  horfe-beans  they  bring  nigh. 
Sick  and  fad  we  cannot  eat ; 

Cat  mud  cure  the  fulks,  they  cry, 

Down  their  throats  we’ll  force  the  meat. 

I,  in  groaning  pafs’d  the  night. 

And  did  roll  my  aching  head  ; 

At  the  break  of  morning  light. 

My  poor  child  was  cold  and  dead.. 

Happy,  happy,  there  file  lies; 

Thou  fiialt  feel  the  lafh  no  more  ; 

Thus  full  many  a  Negro  dies, 

Ere  we  reach  the  dedin’d  fhore. 


39$  The  Sorrows  of  Yamb a. 

Thee,  Aveet  infant,  none  fh ail  fell  ; 
Thou  haft  gain’d  a  vvatry  grave  j 

Clean  efcap’d  the  tyrants  fell, 

W  hile  thy  mother  lives  a  Have. 

Driven  like  cattle  to  a  fair. 

See,  they  fell  us,  young  and  old , 

Child  from  mother  too  they  tear. 

All  for  love  of  filthy  gold. 

I  was  fold  to  Mafia  hard  ; 

Some  have  Mafia’s  kind  and  good ; 

And  again  my  back  was  fcarr’d, 

Bad  and  ftinted  was  my  food. 

Poor  and  wounded,  faint  and  Tick, 

All  expos’d  to  burning  fky, 

Mafia,  bids  me  grafs  to  pick. 

And  I  now  am  near  to  die. 

What,  and  if  to  death  he  fend  me. 
Savage  murder  tho’  it  be, 

Britifh  laws  /hall  ne’er  befriend  me. 
They  protect  not  flaves  like  me. 

Mourning  thus  my  wretched  ftate^ 
(Ne’er  may  I  forget  the  day)  ; 

Cnee  in  dufk  of  evening  late. 

Far  from  home  I  dat’d  to  ftray. 

Dar’d,  alas  1  with  impious  hafte, 
Tow’rds  the  roaring  feato  fiy  j 

Death  itfelf  I  long’d  to  tafte. 

Long’d  to  caft  me  in  and  die. 

There  I  met  upon  the  Strand, 

Englifh-  Miftionary  good  ; 

He  had  Bible  book  in  hand ; 

Which  poor  me  no  underftood* 


I 


The  Sorrows  of  Tamha.  399 

Led  by  pity  from  afar, 

He  had  left  his  native  ground  5 

Thus,  if  fome  indict  a  fear, 

Others  fly  to  cure  the  wound. 

Straight  he  pull’d  me  from  the  lb  ore, 

Bid  me  no  felf- murder  do  ; 

Talk’d  of  flate  when  life  is  o'er, 

All  from  Bible  good  and  true. 

Then  he  led  me  to  his  cot,  - 
Sooth’d  and  pitied  all  my  woe 3 

Told  me  ’twas  the  Chriflian’s  lot. 

Much  to  fuffer  here  below. 

Told  me  then  of  God’s  dear  Son, 

(Strange  and  wond’rous  is  the  ftory) 

What  fad  wrong  to  him  was  done, 

Tho’  he  was  the  Lord  of  Glory. 

Told  me,  too,  like  one  who  knew  him, 

(Can  fuch  love  as  this  be  true  ?) 

How  he  died  for  them  that  flew  him. 

Died  for  wretched  Yamba  too. 

Freely  he  his  mercy  proffer’d. 

And  to  Sinners  he  was  fent  ! 

E’en  to  Mafla  pardon's  offer’d  ; 

O,  if  Maffa  would  repent  1 

Wicked  deed  full  many  a  time. 

Sinful  Yamba  too  hath  done  ; 

But  flie  wails  to  God  her  crime. 

But  flie  truils  his  only  Son. 

,  •  N  0 

O,  ye  flaves  whom  Mafias  beat. 

Ye  are  ftain’d  with  guilt  within  ; 

As  ye  hope  for  mercy  fweet. 

So  forgive  your  Maffas’  fln. 


400  The  Sorrows  of  Yamba. 

And  with  grief  when  finking:  ]o w, 

Mark  the  road  that  Yamba  trod  ; 

Think  how  all  her  pain  and  woe 
Brought  the  Captive  home  to  God. 

Now  let  Yamba,  too,  adore 

Gracious  Heaven's  myfterious  plan  ; 

Now  I’ll  count  my  mercies  o’er. 

Flowing  through  the  guilt  of  man. 

Now  I’ll  blefs  my  cruel  capture, 

(Hence  I’ve  known  a  Saviour’s  name) 

Till  my  grief  is  turn’d  to  rapture. 

And  I  half  forget  the  blame. 

Buttho’  here  a  Convert  rare. 

Thanks  her  God  for  Grace  divine  j 

Let  not  man  the  glory  (hare  ; 

Sinner,  Fill  the  guilt  is  thine. 

~  w\  ~  HR  ’ 

Here  an  injur'd  Slave  forgives, 

There  a  holt  for  vengeance  cry  \ 

Here  a  fingle  Yamba  lives. 

There  a  thoufand  droop  and  die> 

Duly  now  baptiz’d  am  I* 

By  good  Miflionary  man  :: 

Lord,  my  nature  purify. 

As  no  outward,  water  can  l 

All  my  former  thoughts  abhorr’d. 

Teach  me  now  to  pray  and  praife^ 

Joy  and  glory  in  my  Lord, 

Trull  and  ferve  him  all  my  days. 

Worn*  indeed,  with  grief  and  pain, 
Death  I  now  will  welcome  in  : 

0,  the  heavenly  prize  to  gain  ! 

O,  to  Tcape  the  power  of  Sin  ! 


The  Sorrows  of  Tamba .  40 1 

True  of  heart,  and  meek,  and  lowly. 

Pure  and  blamelefs  let  me  grow  l 

Holy  may  I  be,  for  holy 
Is  the  place  to  which  I  go. 

But  tho1  death  this  hour  may  find  me. 

Still  with  Af ric's  love  I  burn  ; 

(There  fve  left  a  fpoufe  behind  me) 

Still  to  native  land  I  turn. 

And  when  Yamba  finks  in  death. 

This  my  lateft  prayer  /ball  be, 

While  I  yield  my  parting  breath, 

Oy  thatAfric  might  be  free  l 

Ceafe,  ye  Britifh  Tons  of  murder  ! 

Ceafe  from  forging  Afric’s  chain  r 

Mock  your  Saviour’s  name  no  further, 

Ceafe  your  favage  lufb  of  gain. 

Ye  that  boaft  “  Ye  rule  the  waves  f 
Bid  no  Slave-fhip  foil  the  fea  ; 

Ye,  that  cc  never  will  be  Jlavesf' 

Bid  poor  Afric’s  land  be  free. 

Where  ye  gave  to  war  its  birth. 

Where  your  traders  fix’d  their  den. 

There  go  publifh  <f  Peace  on  Earth  f 
Go,  proclaim  Cf goodwill  to  men  A 

Where  ye  once  have  earried  daughter. 

Vice,  and  fiavery,  and  fin  ; 

Seiz’d  on  Hufband,  Wife,  and  Daughter, 

Let  the  Gofpel  enter  in. 

Thus,  where  Yamba’s  native  home. 

Humble  hut  of  rufhes  flood  ; 

Oh,  if  there  fhould  chance  to  roam. 

Some  dear  Mifiionary  good  % 


402  The  Sorrows  tf  Yamba. 

Tho  in  Afric’s  diftant  land. 

Still  fhalt  fee  the  man  Ilove ; 

Join  him  to  the  Chriftian  band. 

Guide  his  foul  to  realms  above. 

There  no  fiend  again  fhall  fever 

Thofe/whom  God  hath  join’d  and  blefl 
There  they  dwell  with  him  for  ever,, 
There  “  the  weary  are  at  reft 


TH  K 


'■r 


SHOPKEEPER  turned  SAILOI 


R; 


OR,  THE 


Folly  of  going  out  of  our  Element. 


A  TALE  I  tell  whofe  firft  beginning 
May  fet  fome  giddy  folks  a  grinning  T 
But,  only  let  it  all  unfold, 

A  fadder  tale  was  never  told. 

Some  people,  who  for  years  before. 
Had  feldom  pafs’d  their  outer  door. 

For  once  determin’d  to  be  gay. 

And  have  one  merry-making  day. 
Agreed,  cc  a  failing  we  will  go 
Thus  all  was  fettled  at  a  blow. 

With  hats  and  bonnets  duly  ty’d. 

They  buftle  to  the  water- fide  ; 

And  as  the  women  item  the  gale, 

They  feem  already  under  fail : 

Here,  while  we  find  them  fafe  and  found, 
A  failing  only  on  dry  ground. 

We’ll  take  occafion  to  declare 
Who  all  thefe  merry  people  were. 


4 04  The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor . 

^  Firft,  there  was  John,  a  Trader  he 
Clever  and  imart  as  you  ihall  fee* 

High  on  the  fhelf,  in  nice  afray. 

His  various  Wares  and  Patterns  lay ; 

Call  when  you  will  the  thing’s  at  hand. 
And  John  is  ever  at  his  (land. 

1  grant,  indeed,  his  price  was  high. 

But  then  his  fhew-glafs  caught  the  eye  ; 
Befides,  ’twas  known  and  underhood, 
His  things  were  all  extremely  good. 

Walk  in,  and  if  you  talk  with  John, 

I  warrant  he  will  draw  you  on  : 

Not  that  he  ventur’d  on  the  fin,  . 

Of  taking  any  hrangers  in ; 

For  John,  difpute  it  he  who  can,. 

Was  a  plain  open,  honeh  man  j 
You  faw  it  written  in  his  face  ; 

And  then  he  ferv’d  you  with  a  grace  : 
With  gentle  air,  and  accent  fweet, 
Powder’d  and  drefs’d  fo  fpruce  and  neat. 
And  moh  obliging  in  his  fpeeches, 
Unnumber’d  ribbons  down  he  reaches ; 
Prefents  before  the  Lady’s  view. 

Each  flow’ry  edge,  each  beauteous  hue. 
Rolls  and  unrolls  the  hippery  things, 

And  every  finger  has  its  wings  ; 

Then  waits,  with  rare  command  of  face. 
While  Mils,  in  fad  diftrefsful  cafe. 
Puzzles,  and  frets,  and  doubts,  between 
A  greenifh  blue,  and  blueifh  green. 

At  length  each  anxious  mind  is  eas’d, 

1  he  bargain’s  [truck,  the  Lady’s  pleas’d  ; 
John  humbly  bows,  then  takes  his  flight 
To  write  his  bill  as  fwiftas  light ; 


The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor , 

And  ere  the  Grangers  march’d  away. 

He  next  as  fweetly  afks  for  pay. 

Yet  if  there  enter’d  one  he  knew, 

John  always  gave  the  credit  due  ; 

I  Welcom’d  the  friend  with  joyful  looks. 

Yet  clapp’d  the  debt  into  his  books : 

And  tho  lie  begg’d  the  bill  might  wait, 

’1  was  fen t  at  Chridmas  fure  as  fate. 

At  Chridm  as  too  (I  tell  his  fame, 

T  hat  traders  all  may  do  the  fame) 

John  calmly  takes  his  books  up  flairs. 

And  balances  his  whole  affairs; 

Sees  how  his  total  credits  dand, 

And  values  all  his  flock  in  hand  ; 

Then  fairly  puts  on  t’other  fide. 

The  debts  he  owes  both  far  and  wide ;  ' 

X  he  diff  rence  is  the  flim  he’s  worth, 

’Tis  all  he  has  this  year  on  earth  ; 

Compares  it  with  the  year  before, 

“  Fis  lefs  than  then” — (x  O,  no;  ’tis  more 
<c  ;T?S  va^T  tnore,”  he  fays  with  glee, 

Tis  right,  tis  right,  my  books  agree!” 
But  who,  except  a  trader’s  felf. 

Can  paint  thefe joys  of  growing  pelf ! 

Or  rather,  to  correct  my  fong, 

Who  paint  the  pleafures  that  belong 
To  honed  indudry  and  thrift. 

While  God  is  thank’d  for  every  gift ! 

Ah  !  foolifh  John,  fo  bled  at  home, 

W  nat  needhadd  thou  fo  far  to  roam  ? 

Could  thy  new-fangled  joys  out-top 
The  hourly  pleafures  of  thy  fhop  j 
Or  if  thy  health  an  airing  need. 

And  one  grand  holiday’s  decreed^ 


40 6  '  The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor . 

Could  ft  thou  not  go,  to  change  the  fcene. 
And  take  a  turn  upon  the  green  ? 

Ah  !  foolifh  John,  from  what  Arrange  quarter 
Could  come  this  fancy  for  the  water  ! 

W ell  haft  thou  profper’d  while  on  fhore. 
There  lab ’ring  nobly  at  the  oar ; 

But  if  the  wat’ry  flood  ftiould  ride  thee, 
Methinks  fome  evil  will  betide  thee  : 

And  fhouldft  thou  dare,  when  once  afloat, 
Thyfelf  to  fleer ,  or  row  the  boat, 

The  hour  fhall  come — I  fee  it  nigh. 

With  my  prophetic  poet’s  eye, 

When  know,  vain  man,  that  thou  (halt  fin  art, 
And  all  thy  glory  fhall  depart. 

Then  hear,  ye  Britons,  while  I  preach, 
This  is  the  truth  I  mean  to  teach — 

That  he  who  in  his  fhop  is  bright, 

And  (kill’d  to  keep  his  reck’ning  right. 

Who  fteers  in  the  good  middle  way. 

And  gets  fome  cuftom,  and  fome  pay, 

Marks  when  fad  Bankrupt  times  prevail, 

And  carefully  draws  in  his  fail, 

Keeps  watch,  has  all  his  lanterns  out, 

And  fees  the  dangers  round  about ; 

Pufhes  his  trade  with  wind  and  oar, 

And  ft  ill  gets  forward  more  and  more. 

This  trader,  {kill'd  as  he  may  be 
On  fhore  a  man  of  high  degree, 

May  prove  a  very  dunce  at  fea. 

Ah  !  foolifh  John,  no  thoughts  like  thefe 
Once  enter’d  to  difturb  his  eafe  ; 

Onward  he  goes,  and  thinks  it  grand. 

To  quit  the  plain  and  Ample  land  ; 


407 


The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor . 

Leaves  a  good  houfe  of  brick  and  mortar, 
To  try  mere  wood  upon  the  water. 


PART  IL 


FwAS  told  you  in  a  former  la y, 

How  on  a  lucklefs  evil  day. 

The  trader  John,  a  landfman  brave, 

Left  the  dry  ground  to  try  the  wave. 

But  here  the  Poet  muft  rehearfe. 

In  foft,  and  fweet,  and  tender  verfe. 

How  gentle  Johnny  had  a  wife. 

The  joy  and  folace  of  his  life. 

The  fharer  of  his  griefs  and  cares, 

Privy  to  all  his  great  affairs  ; 

One  who  when  ty’d  in  wedlock's  noofe 
Had  prov’d  a  helpmate  fit  for  ufe  ; 

One  whom  he  married— not  for  whim— 
But  who  could  keep  his  houfe  in  trim  ; 
No  high-flown  mifs,  or  belle,  or  beauty, 
A  Ample-'  girl  that  knew  her  duty  ; 

Had  well  obey’d  her  father,  mother. 
And  counfeird  well  her  younger  brother; 
Healthy  when  young,  and  rather  flout ; 
Moral  ?— nay,  more,  fhe  was  devout : 
And  now  a  Chriflian  quite  at  heart. 

She  carefully  fulfils  her  part, 

Well  /kill'd  alike  her  houfe  to  guide. 

And  ferve  the  fhop  at  Johnny’s  fide.  . 


i 


40 8  The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor.  ] 

See  now  fhe  works  to  help  the  trade, 
And  now  inftrudts  her  under  maid. 

But ’tis  her  chief  and  fpecial  care. 

Her  hufband’s  daily  toil  to  fpare ; 

When  Tick,  or  weary  and  oppreft, 
Toeafe  the  troubles  of  his  bread:, 

To  footh  his  forrows,  calm  his  fears, 

And  help  him  thro’  this  vale  of  tears  ; 
Remind  him  where  his  treafure  lies. 

And  point  to  realms  above  the  (kies. 
Where,  when  this  drifting  fcene  is  o'er. 
The  faithful  meet  to  part  no  more. 

Now  twenty  fummers,  or  above. 

Have  glided  by  and  prov’d  her  love  ; 

And  tho’  they  may  have  marr’d  her  face. 
Have  ripen'd  many  a  Chriftian  grace  ; 
Hence  it  may  now  be  fairly  guefs’d. 

Tier  fated:  days  fhall  be  her  bed:. 

John  knows  her  worth,  and  now-a-days. 
He  grows  quite  eager  in  her  praife  ; 

For  ev’ry  calling  friend  is  told, 

*c  My  wife  is  worth  her  weight  in  gold.” 

To  this  bled:  couple  there  was  born. 
One  daughter,  cheerful  as  the  morn ; 

A  maiden  fhe  of  fpotlefs  fame. 

E'en  in  her  mirth  qtiite  clear  from  blame. 
Train’d  in  Religion's  “  narrow  way,” 
Her  mind  untainted  by  a  play, 

She  hates  your  giddy  glitt’ring  fcenes, 
Tho’  long  hnce  enter’d  on  her  teens  ; 

Sees  all  things  in  a  proper  light, 

And  vice  quite  puts  her  in  a  fright ; 
Prompt  and  obedient  from  a  child. 
Obliging,  humble,  meek,  and  mild  ; 


r 

The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor . 


Still,  before  ftrangers,  *as  a  moiife ; 

Yet  vaftly  ufeful  in  the  houfe  ; 

Toils  for  the  fhop,  tho?  feldom  feen  j 
■ — Ah  ! — there  floe  fits  behind  the  fcreen  : 
There,  like  fome  flower  both  fweet  and  gay. 
She  fhuns  as  yet  the  blaze  of  day  ; 

(Well  does  her  praife  adorn  my  tale) 

A  new-blown  lily  of  the  vale. 

Now  fhould  perchance  fome  fool  draw  near. 
And  get  to  whifper  in  her  ear, 

Of  plays,  and  balls,  and  fairs,  and  races. 
Fine  midnight  roots,  and  public  places. 

And  wonder  how  fhe  can  endure, 

A  life  fo  ufeful,  and  fo  pure — 

"Extol  her  form,  her  piercing  eyes. 

And  tell  a  hundred  fiatt’ring  lies ; 

—While  the  fweet  praife  he  thinks  fhe  ftps. 
The  tortur’d  maiden  bites  her  lips  ; 

Thinks  his  fine  flatt’ry  mere  pretence, 

And  longs  to  tell  him  to  talk  fenfe  ; 

Yet  dreads  to  cake  the  dunce  in  hand. 

Left  he  fhould  ftill  not  underftand. 

But  fhould  he  let  his  vice  peep  out, 

The  meek-ey’d  girl  can  then  turn  ftouti 
For  once  ('tis  faid)  in  terms  diredt, 

A  fpruce  and  fancy  fpark  fhe  check’d ! 

(She  grew  fo  folemn  in  her  fpeeches, 

The  bucks  gave  out  that  cc  Nancy  preaches*’) 
And  once  put  on  the  (wee te ft  air. 

And  begg’d  a  carman  not  to  fwear. 

Thus  while  fhe  fpends  her  peaceful  days. 

Her  parents’  care  fhe  well  repays; 

Honours  her  father,  loves  her  mother. 

She’ll  prove,  methinks,  juft  fuch  another  j 

T 


t 


410  The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor. 

And  tho’  fcarce  feen,  except  at  church, 

The  men  won't  leave  her  in  the  lurch  ; 

Some  honeft  Chriflian  man  ihe’ll  ftrike. 

No  buck  or  blood*-— -for  like  loves  like. 

Next  in  my  long,  of  equal  fame, 

Comes  a  good  honed  antient  dame  ; 

John’s  mother — with  no  fault  but  one— 

• — J  mean — fhe  doated  on  her  fon ; 

For  when  her  own  dear  fpoufe  was  gone. 

Her  whole  affedlions  fell  to  John  ; 

'Twas  then  the  widow’s  age  fo  great. 

Her  profpeds  fmail,  her  income  flrait. 

That  Johnny  weighed  the  matter  well, 

And  took  her  to  his  home  to  dwell : 

No  coft  or  trouble  did  he  grudge. 

For  John  had  rightly  learn’d  to  judge. 

That  people,  once  of  little  fame. 

But  now  of  high  and  mighty  name. 

Oft  owe  the  glory  of  their  llation, 

To  the  mere  help  of  Education. 

Quoth  he — Were  all  men  good  and  true. 
Their  wealth  methinks,  might  half  be  due 
To  fome  good  dame,  who  now  is  found. 

Quite  thrufl  upon  the  mere  back  ground : 
Befides  (he  added,  half  in  tears) 

A  child  is  always  in  arrears. 

In  debt,  alas  1  o’er  head  and  ears. 

Oh,  with  what  joy,  what  thanks  and  praife. 
To  the  great  length’ner  of  her  days ; 

What  feelings,  not  to  be  outdone, 

Tow’rds  her  dear  John,  her  only  fon, 

Did  the  good  parent  take  her  llation. 

And  kindly  own  the  obligation  ! 

And  now  his  tendernefs  fhe  pays 
By  helping  in  a  thoufand  ways. 


The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor . 

Deck'd  in  her  belt,  fhe  comes  in  view. 
And  ferves  the  (hop  from  twelve  to  two 
Knows  not  each  price,  perhaps,  quite  pat. 
Yet  keeps  the  croud  in  civil  chat. 

Till  John  himfelf  comes  up  to  fell 
A  yard  of  lutefiring,  or  an  ell ; 

Next  to  the  cook  her  aid  (he  brings. 

And  does  a  hundred  little  things ; 

Loves  her  own  felf  to  lay  the  cloth. 

To  drefs  the  fallad.  fldm  the  broth  : 

At  fhelling  peas  is  quick  and  nimble, 

Tho’  now  grown  tardy  with  the  thimble  j 
And  always  puts  you  quite  at  eafe. 

Walks  out,  and  leaves  you,  if  you  pleafe  z 
Plain  as*fhe  feems,  has  much  good  fenfe. 
And  hence  Hie  never  takes  offence  , 

And  all  agree,  for  all  are  lenient. 

The  good  old  Lady's  quite  convenient. 
Yet  let  me  add,  if  things  go  wrong, 
Madam  foon  fhews  her  fears  are  flrong ; 
And  then  fhe  gives  a  certain  fpice 
Of  plain  and  downright  good  advice  ; 
Talks  in  a  moil  convincing  tone, 

Of  what  fhe' s  feen,  and  what  floe's  known : 
And  in  away  that  vaftly  wins, 

Will  warn  you  of  her  own  pad  fins : 
Tranquil  at  eve,  in  elbow  chair. 

Tells  what  her  former  follies  were  ; 

Recounts  her  dangers,  nice  efcapes, 

Sad  fufferings  once,  and  aukward  fcrapes  j 
And  while  fhe  paints  her  varied  life. 

Adds  wifdom  e'en  to  Johnny’s  wife.: 

T  2 


*0  » 


412  The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor. 

John  warn’d  of  her,  each  matter  weighs. 
And  Nancy  trembles  and  obeys. 

Thus,  fome  old  Teaman,  once  fo  brave, 
And  buffeted  by  wind  and  wave, 

Of  the  rude  Teas  too  long  the  fport. 

Enters  at  length  fome  peaceful  portj 
Rejoices  now  no  more  to  roam. 

Yet  ads  as  Pilot  nearer  home. 


P  A  R  T  III. 

Long  has  the  Mufe  her  tale  delay’d. 
Has  flopp'd  to  talk  of  Johnny’s  trade  ; 
Wife,  daughter,  mother  too,  of  John, 
And  quite  forgot  to  travel  on. 

Long  has  the  Mufe  with  trembling  fear 
View’d  the  fad  fcene  that  now  is  near  , 
Hu  ng  back,  indeed,  from  very  fright. 
And  fhrunk  and  ftarted  at  the  fight. 

As  the  tall  Heed,  if  he  fhould  fpy 
Some  unknown  form  of  danger  nigh. 
Starts  from  his  path,  his  eye-balls  glare, 
Plis  feet  fly  prancing  in  the  air. 

Round  on  the  fpot,  and  round  he  wheels. 
Upright  upon  his  mere  hind  heels  ; 

So  have  we  ftarted  at  the  view 
Of  what  our  John  is  now  to  do. 

Have  gaily  fi  ifk'd  it  round  and  round. 
Nor  gain’d  as  yet  an  inch  of  ground,. 


4X3 


The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor . 

Come,  gentle  Mufe,  the  tale  declare. 

Sing  how  this  bold  advent’rous  pair. 

With  mother  brave,  and  willing  daughter, 
March'd  to  the  borders  of  the  water. 

Sing  how  they  trod  the  beech  fo  fteep, 

Gaz’d  at  the  wonders  of  the  deep, 

And  ftopt  to  view,  as  in  a  trance. 

The  awful  ocean's  vaft  expanfe  ; 

Then  gaz’d  at  ev’ry  palling  boar, 

Till  they  quite  long’d  to  get  on  float. 

The  boatmen,  as  they  crofs  the  Strand, 
Spring  from  an  alehoufe  juft  at  hand  ; 

All  on  the  party  down  they  burft. 

And  each  is  fure  that  he  was  firft. 

Oh  I  how  they  prefs  and  fill  the  ground. 

And  pufh  and  elbow  all  around  ! 

Each  to  a  Lady  makes  his  fuit, 

Till  Nancy  ftarts,  as  at  a  brute  : 

While  prudent  Johnny,  marching  down. 
Hires  a  fnug  boat  for  half  a  crown. 

Of  fmaller  flze,  but  ftifFand  tight,  ' 

And  having  feen  that  all  is  right. 

Rallies  his  daughter,  claims  his  wife, 

Burfts  through  the  croud,  and  ends  the  ftrife* 
And  now  with  felf-complacent  grin, 

The  favour’d  boatman  hands  them  in  ; 

But  firft  he  plants,  as  is  his  rule, 

On  the  wave’s  edge  his  little  ftool. 

And  while  he  begs  them  to  take  care, 

Prefents  his  elbow7  high  in  air. 

All  in  they  ftept,  all  down  they  fat  ; 

All  fafe,  all  even,  and  all  flat : 

The  boatman  pufbes  off* the  boat; 

W as  e’er  fuch  treafure  all  afloat ! 

T  3 


414  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor » 

And  now  amid  the  fun's  bright  gleam. 

See  how  they  cut  the  filver  ftream  ! 

See  how  the  breeze  begins  to  play  ! 

See  how  it  wafts  them  far  away  ! 

Scarce  had  the  party  left  the  fhore. 
When  Ruffman  longs  to  fpare  his  oar* 
Points  to  the  bench  where  lies  a  fail. 

And  begs  to  profit  by  the  gale. 

At  firft  the  boatman's  words  appal. 

And  all  the  female  faces  fall 

And  madam  bets  ten  thoufand  pound. 

This  inftant  we  fhall  all  be  drown’d. 

Mean  time  old  Ruffman,  with  a  fneer. 
Forbids  each  vain  and  filly  fear  j 
Talks  of  the  feas  that  he  has  crofs’d. 
Beaten,  and  blown,  and  temped:  tofs’d  3 
Tells  of  his  dangers  now  no  more. 

While  a  green  youth  in  days  of  yore. 

Of  feats  perform’d  by  way  of  fun. 

And  boafts  of  matches  he  has  won  : 

Then  drops  his  tone,  and  quite  allays 
All  the  new  fears  he  feem’d  to  raife  ; 

Pleads  his  great  care,  afferts  his  fk ill. 

Begs  each  dear  Lady  ’ll  dread  no  ill ; 

For  if  he  keeps  the  rope  in  hand. 

The  water’s  juft  as  fafe  as  land. 

Thus  all  objections  down  he  beat, 

And  now  the  awful  fail  is  fet ; 

Ah  !  how  they  plow  the  whit’ning  feas. 

So  fine,  fo  glorious  is  the  breeze  ; 

How  frefh  and  cooling  too  the  air. 

While  the  fail  fhades  them  from  the  glare  j 
The  boatman,  who  a  while  before 
Sat  coatlefs,  heated  at  the  oar. 


I 


The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor.  415 

Now  lolls  his  eafe,  obferves  the  wind. 

Steers  with  one  careful  hand  behind  ; 

While  his  right  fill  holds  hard  the  fail. 

Refills  or  humours  well  the  gale  ; 

Then  half-appearing  to  turn  back, 

At  once  he  flops  and  makes  a  tack  ; 

Points  at  the  diflant  land  once  more. 

And  feems  to  run  you  right  afhore  ; 

But  ere  he  lets  you  quite  touch  ground. 

Again  he  fpins  his  veffel  round, 

And  fhifts  acrofs,  with  fkill  fo  nice, 

The  fiutt’ring  canvas  in  a  trice  ;  ' 

Scuds  o’er  the  fpacious  leas  again  ; 

Again  he  plows  the  mighty  main  ; 

Again  the  lefs’ning  fhore  retires, 

Woods,  hills  depart,  and  diflant  fpires  ; 

While  the  bright  fun,  yon  clouds  between. 

Shines  forth  and  gilds  the  glorious  fcene. 

The  party,  eas’d  of  all  their  fright, 

Gaze  round  and  round  with  fweet  delight  * 

Praife  with  one  voice  both  land  and  feas. 

And  now  they  languifh  for  a  breeze  ; 

Dread  left  the  flackriing  wind  fhould  fail. 

And  welcome  every  growing  gale  : 

Swift  o’er  the  fwelling  waves  they  fly. 

And  pleafure  beams  in  every  eye. 

But,  ah  !  how  oft  with  genial  fun, 

While  the  gay  courfe  of  life  we  run. 

And  fancy  as  we  tafte  the  treat. 

Our  human  blifs  is  now  complete  : 

How  oft  in  that  fame  favour’d  hour. 

Does  the  whole  fky  begin  to  lour  ? 

The  cheering  fun-fhine’s  pafs’d  away. 

There  comes  a  dreary  doleful  day  : 

T  4 


4t6  The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor . 

Affliftions  gather  like  a  cloud  ; 

The  fwelling  tempeft  roars  aloud  ; 

"W  hile  from  yon  threading  heav’ns  fo  dark. 
It  thunders  round  our  little  bark  : 

Unikill’d  to  llruggle  thro’  the  breeze, 

We  tofs  in  new  and  troubled  feas. 

And  life  s  gay  morning  all  fb  bright, 

Ends  in  fome  woeful  tale  at  nisht. 


PART  IV. 

CoME,  mournful  Mufe,  and  now  relate 
The  awful  change  in  Johnny’s  fate. 

And  while  the  doleful  fong  is  fung, 

Tell  from  what  caufe  the  ruin  fprung. 

Cool’d  by  the  breeze,  and  halfundreft. 
The  rough  gale  bluft’ring  round  his  bread., 
Robb’d  of  the  fun’s  bright  noon-tide  ray. 
And  oft  befprinkled  by  the  fpray. 

Forth  from  yon  bottom  of  the  boat 
Old  Ruffman  luggs  his  bailor’s  coat. 

And  while  he  cafts  the  jacket  on. 

Leaves  rope  and  rudder  all  to  John* 

Ah  !  now  begins  the  tragic  tale, 

For  now  the  landfman  holds  the  fail  t 
He  fees  around  the  wat’ry  realm. 

Yet  goes  and  feizes  on  the  helm  : 

And  heated  juft  in  Ruffman’s  place, 

Shews  his  cock’d  hat  and  tradefman’s  face  : 


The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor , 

And  now  without  one  failing  art. 

E’en  fimple  Nancy  bears  a  part ; 

Sits  playful  by  her  father’s  fide, 

And  light  and  gay,  and  merry-ey’d. 

Holds  with  that  hand  that  held  a  fan. 

Rude  ropes,  as  if  fhe  were  a  man, 

While  idle  Ruffman,  freed  from  care. 

Half  deeping,  earns  his  eafy  fare. 

— But  hark  !  from  yonder  didant  fhore. 
Did  you  not  hear  the  thunder  roar  ? 

See  !  See  !  the  vivid  lightnings  play. 

And  the  dark  cloud  deforms  the  day  : 

Now  too  there  comes  the  whiffling  breeze. 
And  fweeps  the  rudely  dwelling  feas ; 

Fills  with  one  blad  the  fail  fo  full. 

Wife,  mother,  daughter,  help  to  pull. 

Now  failors,  if  it  feems  to  blow. 

For  fafety  let  the  canvas  go ; 

But  women,  not  like  paffive  men. 

In  vengeance  always  pull  again. 

Befides,  as  each  her  ffrength  apply’d. 

Each  crowded  on  the  leeward  fide  $ 

And  though  a  lady’s  like  a  feather, 

E’en  feathers  weigh  when  heap’d  together. 

Fierce  blows  the  whirlwind,  and  of  courfc 
The  ladies  double  all  their  force ; 

Each  pulls  and  (trains,  and  tugs  and  drives. 
Like  people  pulling  for  their  lives  ; 

John,  honed  landfman  !  (imply  lets  them ; 
Fear  lends  them  drength,  and  overfets  them* 
Fain  would  I  urge  the  frighted  Mufe 
To  paint  the  fcene  which  next  endues— 

To  tell  how  Ruffman,  rous’d  from  deep, 

Fell  headlong  down  amid  the  deep  s 

T  5 


4i  8-  The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor, 

Then  mounting,  ey’d  the  diftant  Ihore, 
How  Nancy  funk  to  rife  no  more — 

But  ah  !  we’ll  leave  it  quite  alone* 

W  would  break  methinks  a  heart  of  ftone,* 
— Plung’d  in  the  deep,  half  loft  in  death* 
Struggling  and  panting  hard  for  breath; 
John  thought  to  ft  niggle  now  no  more, 
When  his  hand  lights  upon  an  oar; 

His  chin  uplifted  o’er  the  wave, 

He  thus  efcapes  a  wat’ry  grave  ; 

Saves,  fcarcely  faves,  his  wretched  life— 
Bereft  of  mother,  daughter,  wife  ! 

Thus  dearly  for  his  fault  he  pays ; 
Henceforth  a  mourner  all  his  days. 

Here  ends  the  tale— -My  friends  arife 
And  wipe,  I  pray,  your  weeping  eyes : 
My  fable— did  you  think  it  true  ? 

Was  fram’d  in  fact  to  picture  you  ; 

So  next  I’ll  preach  to  all  the  nation  ; 

And  firft,  ye  Sons  of  Innovation  ! 

When  Britons,  wearied  with  their  lot. 
Grow  wild  to  get  they  know  not  what, 
And  quit,  through  love  of  Revolution, 
Our  good  old  Englifh  Conftitution  ; 

When  Frenchmen  lead  the  mazy  dance. 
And  Britons  ape  fantaftic  France  ; 
Methinks,  like  Johnny  once  fo  brave. 
They’re  leaving  land  to  try  the  wave  ; 
They’re  quitting  ancient  houfe  and  home. 
Mid  the  wild  winds  and  feas  to  roam. 

When  Coblers  meet  in  grand  debate. 
And  little  folks  feel  vaftly  great ; 

When  eachforfooth  would  quit  his  ftation. 
And  Jack  and  Will  would  rule  the  nations 


9 


419 


The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor . 

Methinks  we’re  then  in  evil  cafe— 

Here’s  Johnny  perch’d  in  Ruffman’s  placo. 
When  women  too  make  free  to  mix. 

And  try  their  hand  in  politics. 

Set  England  right  while  drinking  tea. 

And  fhew  how  all  things  ought  to  be  ; 
Reprove,  pafs  lentence,  or  acquit. 

And  talk  as  grand  as  Fox  or  Pitt  $ 

Such  ladies  never  mend  my  hopes — 

Here’s  Nancy’s  handling  all  the  ropes. 

When  Parker  rules  as  grand  dictator. 

And  each  Jack  Tar’s  a  legillator  ; 

When  feamen  fit  like  kings  in  (late. 

While  lords  come  down  and  captains  wait  : 
Again,  I  fay,  ’tis  juft  the  cafe 
Of  Johnny  perch’d  in  Ruffman’s  place. 

Help  !  Britons,  help  !  we  fink,  we  drown  1 
They’ve  turn’d  our  velfel  upfide  down. 

When  fome  raw  lad,  with  jockey  face. 
Has  gain’d  five  thoufand  at  a  race. 

And  fiulh’d  with  joy,  refolves  to  Hand 
For  fome  vile  borough,  purfe  in  hand  ; 

Rains  ribbons  round  him,  half  for  fun. 

At  once  bids  all  the  barrels  run. 

Drinks  his  poor  dull  opponent  down. 

And  at  one  onfet  florms  the  town  ; 

Then  pays  with  honour  half  his  debts, 

And  off  he  flies  to  mind  his  bets  5 
Lofes  at  next  Newmarket  Band, 

Stocks,  money,  horfes,  houfe  and  land  3 
With  jockey  fpeed  runs  up  to  town. 

Votes  fome  great  queftion,  and  runs  down  3 
Grows  now  a  red  hot  party  prater. 

And  calls  himfelf  a  legillator^ 

T  6 


4 


420  The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor , 

* — Why  this.  I’d  tell  tell  him  to  his  face. 

Is  Johnny  perch’d  in  Ruffman’s  place. 

When  College  Youths,  well  vers’d  in  vice. 
Turn  all  fo  reverend  in  a  trice, 

From  deacon  duly  rife  toprieft, 

Then  run  to  play,  to  ball,  to  feaft  3 
Give  their  poor  flocks  no  chriftan  light. 

While  Paine  mult  let  our  morals  right: 
Indeed,  indeed,  it  makes  me  fret. 

For  then  the  church  is  overfet 5 

But  fhould  thefe  heads  fome  pulpit  grace. 

Why  then  ’tis  John  in  Ruffman’s  place. 

When  hair-brain’d  Quacks,  without  degree* 
Prefume  to  take  the  do&or’s  fee  3 
Cure  all  di (orders  every  day. 

In  fome  fafe,  eafy,  Ample  way  3 
Colds  and  catarrhs,  all  aching  pain, 
Confumption,  fever  in  the  brain  3 
All  nervous  maladies  to  boot, 

With  lome  foft  fyrup  or  new  root, 

—Oh  !  dunces,  tell  them  not  your  cafe, 

’Tis  Johnny  perch’d  in  Ruffman’s  place* 

When  men  of  rank  and  talents  rare. 

Make  fome  fine  flud  their  only  care. 

Though  form’d  to  rule  and  guide  the  land. 
Love  better  guiding  four  in  hand, 
dPafs  in  the  liable  half  their  lives, 

Are  more  with  Will  than  with  their  wives  * 

Or  when  my  lady  quite  defcends. 

And  turns  her  fervants  into  friends. 

Of  all  her  equals  feems  afraid, 

And  whifpers  fecrets  to  her  maid  ; 

With  Betty  dwells  on  this  and  that. 

And  dearly  loves  the  kitchen  chat— 


421 


The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor , 

—  When  fervants  too  get  much  too  fmart. 
And  each  mud  aft  the  mailer’s  part 3 
Juft  like  their  mafter  when  they  dine. 

Sit  long,  eat  veniion,  and  drink  wine  3 
When  footmen  get  above  their  place. 

And  butlers  fhew  their  lordly  face  ; 

When  Betty  too  difdains  her  pattens. 

And  flaunts  about  in  filks  and  fattins 3 
Or  fhould  fhe  find  the  fafhion  varies. 

Then  follows  all  the  new  vagaries, 

Adopts  at  once  my  lady’s  tafte, 

And  fcarce  can  bear  an  inch  of  waift  3 
Has  ear-rings,  juft  the  felf-lame  pair. 
Binds  the  fame  turban  round  her  hair  3 
Apes  in  each  part  my  lady  quite. 

And  trips  in  muffins  juft  as  white  3 
When  fuch,  alas !  is  all  the  cafe, 

’Tis  Johnny  got  in  Ruff  man’s  place. 

Again,  when  wives  have  got  victorious. 
And  the  poor  hufband  fneaks  inglorious. 
When  John  is  gentle,  Jenny  coarfe. 

And  the  grey  mare’s  the  better  horfe  3 
Or  when  you  children  have  your  ways. 

And  ftrange  to  tell,  papa  obeys  ! 

When  things  are  managed  all  fo  ill 
That  little  Tommy  fays  “  I  will”  3 
Or  laftiy,  let  me  tell  you  when — 

When  men  turn  women,  women  men. 
Men  hate  of  all  things  to  be  rafh, 

And  women,  meek-ey’d  women,  dafh. 
Men  down  their  forehead  draw  their  locks? 
And  women  fhew  their  colour’d  clocks, 
Difcard  their  fhame,  forget  their  fex. 

And  chufe  to  open  all  their,  necks : 


422  The  Shopkeeper  turned  Sailor. 

When  fuch  again  is  all  the  cafe, 

’Tis  Johnny  got  in  RufFman’s  place. 

Oh  !  would  ye  Hop  the  nation's  fall. 
Then  every  cobler  mind  your  awl ; 

You  labouring  lads  pufh  home  your  fpade  ; 
Ye  trading  Johnnies  mind  your  trade 
Ye  feamen  fight  and  don’t  debate ; 

Watch  flatefmen  well  the  helm  of  Hate  ; 
Ye  clergy  mind  your  awful  part, 

’Tis  your’s  to  turn  the  nation’s  heart  3 
Keep  parents  to  the  good  old  way. 

And  njake  your  children  all  obey  3 
Claim  not,  ye  wives,  the  chief  command. 
Keep  back  ye  Nancies  of  the  land,. 

Let  women  ne’er  be  over  ready, 

You’ll  trim  the  boat  by  fitting  fteady  : 
Inftruded  thus  by  Johnny’s  cafe. 

Let  ev’ry  Briton  mind  his  place. 


1 


/ 


» 


THE 


T R U  E  HERO  E S 


OR,  THE 


NOBLE  ARMY  OF  MARTYRS, . 


I  OU  who  love  a  tale  of  glory, 
Lifien  to  the  fong  I  fing ; 

Heroes  of  the  Chriitian  Itory, 

Are  the  heroes  whom  I  bring. 

Warriors  of  the  world,  avaunt ! 

Other  heroes  me  engage  ; 

’Tis  not  fuch  as  you  I  want. 

Saints  and  Martyrs  grace  my  page. 

Warriors  who  the  world  fubdue. 
Were  but  vain  and  felfifh  elves  $ 

While  my  heroes  good  and  true. 
Greater  far,  fubdu’d  themfelves. 

Fearful  Chriflian  !  hear  with  wonder. 
Of  the  Saints  of  whom  I  tell ; 

Some  were  burnt,  fome  fawn  afundeij 
Some  by  lire  or  torture  fell, 


424  7V#*  Heroes . 

Some  to  fa^age  beads  were  hurl’d. 
Some  furviv’d  the  lion’s  den  j 

Was  a  perfecuting  world 

Worthy  of  thefe  wond’rous  men  ? 

Some  in  fiery  furnace  thrown. 

Yet  eicap’d,  unfing’d  their  hair  ; 

There  Almighty  pow’r  was  (down, 
For  the  Son  of  God  was  there. 

Now  we  crown  with  deathlefs  fame, 
Thofe  who  fcorn’d  and  hated  fell ; 

Worldlings  fear  contempt  and  fhame. 
Martyrs  fear  but  fin  and  hell. 

How  the  fhower  of  dones  defcended. 
Holy  Stephen  on  thy  head  ! 

While  thy  tongue  the  truth  defended. 
How  the  glorious  Martyr  bled  ! 

See  his  fierce  reviler  Saul, 

How  he  rails  with  impious  breath  1 

Then  obferve  converted  Paul, 

Oft  in  perils,  oft  in  death. 

God  alone,  whofe  fovereign  pow’r 
Did  the  lion’s  fury  fwage. 

Could  alone  in  one  Jhort  hour. 

Still  the  perfecutor’s  rage. 

Ev’n  a  woman — women  hear, 

Read  in  Maccabees  the  dory  ! 

Conquer’d  nature,  love,  and  fear. 

To  obtain  a  crown  of  glory. 


425 


The  True  Heroes . 

Seven  flout  fons  fhe  law  expire, 

(How  the  mother’s  foul  was  pain’d !) 

Some  by  fword,  and  fome  by  fire. 

How  the  Martyr  was  fuftained  ! 

Even  in  death’s  acutefl  anguifh. 

Each  the  tyrant  fxill  defy’d  ; 

Each  fhe  faw  in  torture  languifh, 

Laft  of  all  the  mother  dy’d. 

Martyrs  who  were  thus  arrefled. 

In  their  fhort  but  bright  career. 

By  their  blood  the  truth  attefled,  - 
Prov’d  their  faith  and  love  fincere. 

t  X 

Tho’  their  lot  was  hard  and  lowly, 

Tho’  they  perifh’d  at  the  flake  5 

Now  they  live  with  God  in  glory. 

Since  they  fuffer’d  for  his  fake,  r 

Fierce  and  unbelieving  foes. 

But  their  bodies  could  deflroy  ; 

Short,  tho’  bitter  were  their  woes5 
Everlafling  is  their  joy. 


\ 


A 


NEW  CHRISTMAS  HYMN 

s  .  ...  *  ,*  .  .  *  ■  •>  . ;  ; 

O  HOW  wonTrousis  the  dory  n 
Of  our  bled  Redeemer’s  birth  ! 

See  the  mighty  Lord  of  Glory 
Leaves  his  heaven  to  vifit  earth  l 

Hear  with  tranfport  every  creature. 

Hear  the  Gofpel’s  joyful  found  $ 

Ohrid  appears  in  human  nature. 

In  our  finful  world  is  found  ! 

Comes  to  pardon  our  tranfgredion. 

Like  a  cloud  our  fins  to  blot ; 

Comes  to  his  own  favour’d  nation, 

But  his  own  receive  him  not. 

If  the  angels  who  attended 

To  declare  the  Saviour’s  birth. 

Who  from  heaven  with  fongs  defcended. 

To  proclaim  Good-will  on  earth  * 

If,  in  pity  to  our  blindnefs, 

They  had  brought  the  pardon  needed, 

Still  Jehovah’s  wond’rous  kindnefs 
Had  our  warmed  hopes  exceeded  ! 


A  New  Chriftmas  Hymn . 

If  fome  Prophet  had  been  fent 
With  falvation’s  joyful  news. 

Who  that  heard  the  bleft  event 
Could  their  warmeft  love  refufe  ? 

But  ’twas  He  to  whom  in  Heaven 
Hallelujahs  never  ceafe  ; 

He,  the  mighty  God,  was  given. 

Given  to  us  a  Prince  of  Peace. 

None  but  he  who  did  create  us 
Could  redeem  from  fm  and  hell  $ 
None  but  he  could  re-inftate  us 
In  the  rank  from  which  we  fell. 

Had  he  come,  the  glorious  Granger, 
Deck’d  with  all  the  world  calls  great. 
Had  he  liv’d  in  pomp  and  grandeur, 
Crown’d  with  more  than  royal  ftate  ; 

Still  our  tongues  with  praife  overflowing. 
On  fuch  boundlefs  love  would  dwell. 
Still  our  hearts  with  rapture  glowing, 
Speak  what  words  could  never  tell. 

But  what  wonder  Ihould  it  raife 
Thus  our  loweft  Hate  to  borrow  ! 

O  the  high  myfterous  ways, 

God’s  own  Son  a  child  of  forrow  ! 

5Twas  to  bring  us  endlefs  plcafure. 

He  our  fuflering  nature  bore, 

3Twas  to  ^ive  us  heavenly  treafure 
He  was  willing  to  be  poor. 


42  8  A  New  Chriftmas  Hymn* 

Come  ye  rich,  furvey  the  liable 
Where  your  infant  Saviour  lies  ; 

From  your  full  o-erflowing  table 
Send  the  hungry  good  fupplies.* 

Bead  not  your  ennobled  Nations, 

Boall  not  that  you’re  highly  fed ; 

Jesus,  hear  it  all  ye  nations, 

Had  not  where  to  lay  his  head, 

%  -5  *  ' 

Learn  of  me,  thus  cries  the  Saviour, 

If  my  kingdom  you’d  inherit ; 

Sinner,  quit  your  proud  behaviour^ 
Learn  my  meek  and  lowly  fpirif. 

Come  ye  fervants  lee  your  llation. 

Freed  from  all  reproach  and  lhame  \ 

He  who  purchas’d  your  falvation. 

Bore  a  fervant’s  humble  name. 

Come  ye  poor,  fome  comfort  gather, 
Faint  not  in  the  race  you  run. 

Hard  the  lot  your  gracious  father 
Gave  his  dear,  his  only  Son. 

Think,  that  if  your  humble  Rations 
Lefs  of  worldly  food  bellow. 

You  efcape  thole  llrong  temptations 
Which  from  wealth  and  grandeur  flow. 

See  your  Saviour  is  afeended  ! 

See  he  looks  with  pity  down  ; 

Trull  him  all  will  loon  be  mended. 

Bear  his  crofs  you’ll  fhare  his  crown. 


. »:'wrrf 


OF  PRAISE 


,FO,R  THE 


.ABUNDANT  HARVEST  OF  179.6. 

AFTER  A  YEAR  OF  SCARCITY. 


Great  God  !  when  Famine  threaten’d  late 
To  fcourge  our  guilty  land, 

O  did  we  learn  from  that  dark  fate 
To  dread  thy  mighty  hand  ? 


jo  A  Hymn  of  Praije, 

Did  then  our  fins  to  mem’ry  rife  ? 

Or  own’d  we  God  was  juft  ? 

Or  rais’d  we  penitential  cries  •? 

Or  bow’d  we  in  the  duft  ? 

Did  we  forfake  one  evil  path  ? 

x  Was  any  (in  abhorr’d  ? 

Or  did  we  deprecate  thy  wrath,. 

And  turn  us  to  the  Lord  ? 

’Tis  true  we  fail’d  not  to  refine. 

But  did  we  too  repent  ? 

Or  own  the  chaftifement  divine 

In  awful  judgment  fent  ? 

'  !  .✓ 

V 

Tho’  the  bright  chain  of  Peace  is  broke 
And  war  with  ruthlefs  fword 
Unpeoples  nations  at  aftroke, 

Yet  who  regards  the  Lord  ? 

But  God,  who  in  his  ftrid  decrees 
Remembers  mercy  ft  ill. 

Can,  in  a  moment,  if  he  pleafe. 

Our  hearts  with  comfort  fill.  . 

He  mark’d  our  angry  fpirits  rile, 
Domeftic  hate  increafe  j 
And  for  a  time  withheld  lupplies, 

To  teach  us  love  and  peace. 

Pie,  when  he  brings  his  children  low. 
Has  ble flings  frill  in  ftore  ; 

And  when  he  ftrikes  the  heavieft  blow. 
He  does  but  love  us  more. 

I 


/ 


for  the  abundant  Harveji  of  1796.  4^1 

Now,  Frost,  and  Flood,  and  Blight  no  more 
Our  golden  harvefts  fpoil ; 

See  what  an  unexampled  ftore 
Rewards  the  Reapers  toil ! 

As  when  the  promis’d  harveft  fail’d. 

In  Canaan’s  fruitful  land  ; 

The  envious  Patriarchs  were  affai I’d 
By  famine’s  preffing  hand  I 

The  angry  brothers  then  forgot 
Each  fierce  and  jarring  feud ; 

United  by  their  adverfe  lot,  - 
They  lov’d  as  brothers  fhou’d, 

Sojiere,  from  Heaven’s  correcting  hand^ 

Tho'  famine  fail’d  to  move  ; 

Let  Plenty  now  throughout  the  land 
Rekindle  peace  and  love. 

Like  the  rich  fool,  let  us  not  fay. 

Soul  !  thou  haft  goods  in  ftore  ! 

*But  ihake  the  overplus  away, 

To  feed  the  aged  poor. 

Let  rich  and  poor,  on  whom  are  now 
Such  bounteous  crops  beftow’d, 

Raife  many  a  pure  and  holy  vow 
In  gratitude  to  God  ! 

vAnd  while  his  gracious  name  we  praife 
For  bread  fo  kindly  given  ; 

Let  us  befeech  him  all  our  days. 

To  give  the  bread  ofheav’n. 


s 


432  H  Hymn  of  Praife ,  &c. 

In  that  bleft  Prayer  our  Lord  did  frame. 
Of-  all  our  prayers  the  guide, 

We  afk  that  “  hallow'd  be  bis  name/’ 
And  then  our  wants  fupplied. 

For  grace  he  bids  us  fir  ft  implore. 
Next,  that  we  may  be  fed  ; 

We  lay,  cc  Thy  will  be  done,”  before 
We  afk  fC  our  daily  bread.” - 


Printed  by  Bye  and  Law,  St.  John’s  Square. 


*  l 


